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Bagatelle and Babble
TWO CANDLES - Part II: (喬)
As a child, I once lost my name to the echo of street vendors,
a silver coin of light mooning the beginning of the day,
water chestnut, mountain lily, a thumb nail chewed and stuck ahigh
and the buildings begin to sway and I was at run and away
as my mother's voice twirled and faded, a mirage in the summer's gaseous rising
replaced by the rivering scent that lent me a new course by which to skedaddle:
Cheong Fun, Curry Fish Balls, Siu Mai, Organs in a Pot.
The names themselves a population of secret corners and retreats,
the entire decaying joinery beam-and-posted together by the fecund dragoning
of the golden musk of Tofu whose stench was more blossom than funk
and whose redolence snaked and shaped the licking of my dreams and the corners of Mong Kok.
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