Artchil Daug


Falling Late One Night in Hong Kong


They made the alarm clock shout late in the evening so
they can stand over my drawer over what
they thought
they witnessed in the lonely corner in Robinson road
they usually visit for the Faustian shopkeeper as if
they walked without batteries believing that
they lost it to some ladies market leprechaun
they let inside that tiny hole of their conscience
they created with the smoke of Chinese candles
they bought near the sunset in a Victoria Peak
they captured in their super smart phones that
they sanctified with the howling sound of the railway that
they whispered near the botanical garden where
they celebrated the victory of the fumes
they conjured in the frying pan of an Italian restaurant
they worshiped near Rednaxela St. where the electrical signal halted as I hang the phone thinking of


they.

Submitted: Sunday, August 19, 2012
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