that asian kid, shooting some jazz

hmm not bad, that asian kid, that black hair small eyes

yeah yeah not bad

（爵士1?）

that short fingers short figure short fuse short hair

hey hey who’s, who’s that asian kid

some girl

nah, isn’t that some boy

nah, cant you see those tits

nah that’s a boy for sure

（亦男亦女2?）

hey isn’t that that asian jazz kid

I thought that kid liked pussy

nah I thought that kid liked cock

nah I just thought that kid liked gay

who cares, look, that kid is shooting some jazz now
the jazz shot through the window into the crying night into

cry houses sitting around crying mothers and children and

the fathers dont cry with tears

will the houses not melt with tears? will the rivers not crash

into tsunamis into storms of fists cracking against wooden

tables factured for carrying the weight of 12 years of red

crosses and ticks dictating rights and wrongs and breaking

the brain into the binary that syncs the computer?

the jazz shot through the eyes and the talking and the

laughing and the bullshitting of the people in the bar, shot

into the veins but didn’t pulse through the bloodstream, ran

a stream omnipresent screaming into the soul, ran it, ran

kid’s feet flying over pavements of China, ran to childhood,

kid crying in tears with tears, begging 妈妈3 not to go,

crying for 妈妈 to pick kid up at lunch, to go home, even

just for an hour, until 8 P.M., when the 8-year-old kids

would be released from their wooden desks factured for

carrying the weight of…red crosses and

ticks…dictating…the brain…

that jazz is roaring like the broken English and the halfway

career and the 7444 kilometres and

that jazz is roaring like the broken English and

that jazz is roaring until the black hair streaks in tear-lashes

to a naked white lashed lashed lashed by the night strung

together by the cigarette smoke damned by the cracked lips

that are gone

that asian kid’s jazz is roaring and screaming and wailing

and everything is dissolving into the cracked basin worn

out by tears and all the colours express themselves in one

pure tone of silence

 jazz

 androgyny

 mum