Poetic Justice

I read it again yesterday- you can’t earn a living writing poetry.
I beg to differ. Exhibit A:

“A girl who is warm and humane during the day
A classy girl who know how to enjoy the freedom of a cup of coffee
A girl whose heart gets hotter when night comes
A girl with that kind of twist

I’m a guy
A guy who is as warm as you during the day
A guy who one-shots his coffee before it even cools down
A guy whose heart bursts when night comes
That kind of guy

You know what I’m saying
Oppan Gangnam style

A girl who puts her hair down when the right time comes…
A sensable girl like that

A guy who has bulging ideas rather than muscles
That kind of guy

On top of the running man is the flying man, baby
I’m a man who knows a thing or two

Oppan Gangnam style”


That’s poetic genius right there– AND market gold.

Exhibit B:

“He looks at you, you are healthy
With qualities of a pheasant, of a pheasant!
But love, sometimes what a hindrance?
Problems such as this are manifold
Sometimes love is as sweet as kalbi (Beef Delicacy)
Sometimes the taste is likened
to milk of a cow who has done nothing wrong
Sometimes love is as hard
As a certain kind of stone for building houses
Sometimes it is otherwise

Oh dance baby, oh dance baby
Oh, happy dance, yeah!
Oh dance baby, oh dance baby
Oh, happy dance, yeah!”

-Bret’s karaoke performance, FOTC

I am
As a florist who finds a stem
and knows just where to place it in a vase
Such as one who resists the urge
to put fingers in the eye after cutting chiles
Like when a tourist kneels near traffic
to retrieve a camera dropped by the curb


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