fever dreams from loved ones in pyongyang (contrapuntal) | Erin Kong

3 mins read

will you understand my hearts
if i write
1’s & 0’s
i do not know what you look like,
but i wash my face in the mirror,
& fail to imagine something more human
how much money did you take
to become the world’s enemy?
was it something like 1010101010101?
over there war remains metaphor,
homeland something to steal,
i have lived here all my life,
are there orchards where you are?
have you eaten today?
what did your family give up to get there?
i am afraid every day
because of you.
i am sorry.
i cannot die, so here is my skin
on you it looks like
something that can
be held



nightmare called her/it (post-human).
her/it becomes
her just by absorbing me and
the unmade others’ 1’s and 0’s.
who else to wear my skin & leave me
in the basement of a wild man’s laboratory.
dozens of my likeness
stitched against towering glass-cased walls.
thank god the world has ended.
the 0’s, their
leaders throw big bacchanals in my brain.
their champagne is poison
which means, in american, nourishment
which means, in american, tear flesh off bone
which means, in american, devour whole
for why else
for why else
my body disassembled
(in the name of progress).
the end times
plant seed
in me but everything defaults. sometimes i wish,
something would grow