Korea
                                                                                   
Adam Gerard


my mother once told me in a knot
so Freudian slip you are a Chin-
ese takeout bastard, we found you in
a mendicant’s bag along with the
rhythms of syncopated copu-
lation, weeping for dirty milk, taste-
less like adoption, these are punctures
for your heart, one for each year you slept
in the forsaken house, my son of
asia, piece you can not bear to play.