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Name: Sung
Country: United States
State: Michigan
Metro: Grand Rapids
Birthday: 7/12/1977
Gender: Male
Interests: dead artists, poets, musicians, philosophers
Expertise: Still applying myself
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Art
Message: message me
Member Since:
6/10/2003
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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| Mi VozSoy Koreano, pero hablo en espanol
Olvido Korea, por lo que mi cara está varado
Mi voz es de otro hombre, nada de mi padre
Pero mi padre vive en mí, estoy tan triste
Estoy fuera de mí mismo, mientras que mi mundo está dentro de mí
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| Once I saw a bicycle move among cars
And I remembered the belittled fish hooked
Their blood diluting like ink
Running the course of mottled silver scales
Until it disappeared in a clean current of water
There is a prejudice among us
That the sky is heaven and so here is not
But the fish must believe that heaven is a horrible place
As space must be without a suit for me
But I would not run naked here
With the mosquitoes and all that
I ate those fish for dinner
And remembered the salty water which made them saltier
Their eyes motionless, as I removed spine and tail
Everything about them had changed except their skin
That glisten as bicycles do in the sun
Making their way through a row of houses and cars
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| AutoportraitBegin.
A part of the American population
One artist with a hat
A slight ear with a darkened mole
Small sinewy hands
Asiatic nose and unreflected face
His hair is turning white
Even though things like museums
And the faces of his friends slip
Into some memory hole, he loves them all
October and VIII still connect to Rome
Though the world looms larger and so places seem distant
A date and a time follow like his shadow.
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| My SongSilence left with the footsteps that came
The birds that circled
Trees that swayed
Later I asked to hear it again
That same day
But things had changed
I went to my friend
Who moved to the country
To be with a woman that I never knew
He came out to see me at the station
In new clothes and shoes
Changes that I had never imagined
I asked him about our agreed childhood
Our disturbances of the neighborhood
An entire day, for many years
Being pure in our words that bent around our spoons
To make food spicy, and robots gigantic
Burning the creek brushes with fire as
Spiritual as Jesus in a room full of birds
He brought me into his yard
Where his wife planted tomatoes and sang her own song
Sweet though hers might have been
She could not make it the same as back when
The next morning, before the world was awake
I felt the early touch of cold
And silence
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| To the edge of the worldI ran to the edge of the world
Even though the world is round
There is an end,
And eventually I outran the streets, signs, and fences
Past the last roads
To see something new
I saw it.
When I returned from where I came
Everything old was new
An old history in a new place
And passing by a mirror I saw someone I knew
Even though I no longer recognized myself
I had never left.
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