The Flowers of Shanghai

Poem

The Times of Shanghai almost lost,

like flowers on a delicate night,

over the river, bed a bill to live,

as red sorghum tastes of your childhood,

when anything sweet was to be savored,

like a fortress besieged,

and a book of sins made flesh.

when read is black,

and the light, heat, power at midnight

consumes the bones of very flesh.

Decoded by the thoughts of insane bots

against the Empire of the Sun

against the Nanjing massacre

of Balzac and the Chinese seamstresses,

who sow and reap the bodies with silk clothing,

Love in a Fallen City.