75) A Freeway on a Cloudy Day
Wolran Kim
It is the perfect weather to tap memories
No road to run on, on the earth
I’d better not be commercial considering loss or gain
When swiftly running, I paid a toll with vomit
Even though the humidity increases sneeringly
I’d better not sympathize with funeral songs
(FYI, the forecast got it right. It will be blurry over the weekend.
A rollover accident of the sun. Still, I’d better not feel so unlucky.)
If I raise my upper body of overcast, there is a home of clouds on my forehead
If I climb over this vain genre like a hill
The time of 80 mph goes into the sky with the rare disease
It’ll disappear into a monologue like a word tail game
I’m a water drop right before an explosion, drop by drop
The new continent hanging a floral wreath of light is uncertain
No sun like a stigma of utopia!
Red lights blink despair at every clover-shaped interchange
The wheels are delayed from that
Still the routes cannot be changed
Under the construction sign that overturns the road often
Barricades line up steadily as lifeboats
An electric current swirls cutting off the words of the sun
It is leaking through opened damp windows like a search bar
I, who was exiled from the rainy land to the dry land
And don’t want to be awake today
Am taking a servile attitude like a Negro in the slave era
A fragrance of fascism spreads by a version of shade
It stays like a small fine on the speed limit
Under the stopped handle like a needle of the control panel
The one-way is flowing like a subtitle