Flying Roads
By Wolran Kim
Aren’t we used to walking all along mountain ranges with soulless and barefoot? Then a one horse carriage starts crazily running as an awakened mad horse after taking the shape of a four wheeled auto. The roadside flowers wag as they make eyes at each other under a bamboo hat, but now they are snatching and crumbling without any eye contact through bombed windows. Flying birds were looking at them opening their mouth wide.
Listen be careful! You can hear the sound of the road while the darkness swallows roofs and trees whole without chewing. You can hear the sounds of dreamy ashes that are rising up beyond the assembling edges in clusters. Then they fly about the Milky Way with silver wings. Moreover, one day, all roads on the planet stick to a monitor screen, and I started to fly anonymously exercising in the street with a new ID wearing revolted time. I fly by night and whisper amour astray with hypertext that dreams about the Paleolithic Age.
One day, I received a yellow card of the risk of information leakage. I realized that I was copied or stolen after getting a certification number through a recorded voice which flied across the tunnel of the Pacific Ocean at the speed of light after three seconds I clicked. The road that laid down for a long time disappeared and left only long white bones by the street lights when I walked out the door in pajamas and barefoot by a hunch about something happening. Urinated flowers that were standing by in the silence of darkness, stare at me blankly. Their roots were swaying in the air after all the roads ran away, soullessly.
