White Lotus Temple

By | 1 August 2012

It begins with
a spark. The wind knows,
slipping through the square-shaped mouth
in dark-grey of a brick furnace.
It’s breathing. Flying up.
Bursting into shapeless flames.
There are people, their eyes
telling a sterile apathy, not going with
their obsessive hands to put
the gifts in. They are murmuring
an ambiguous prayer, to the hopping spirit to
morph piles of four-cornered paper sheets,
which take the form of American dollar,
Hong Kong dollar and Chinese Yuan,
into ashes. They turn around and walk away afterwards.

This entry was posted in 50: JACKPOT! and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work: