Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
     hence a starry notion born
grew up while

     this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
     Asian aw shucks husky
     husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
     barnstorming across

     expansive fields of baby
     (barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
     (an maize zing genre), especially
     when enriched with humus

     laden loamy muck cob bra,
     then aye delightfully
     trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me

     saluting rank and file fool's capped
     fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
     versus growing seasons gone by,

     when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
     asper when this strapping chap

     a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
     omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
     posterity sagas deeming

     shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
     who grease palms of industrialists,

whose quaking self importance
     thwarts aside rural cosseted
     krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
     how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie

helping determine
     zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
     till body electric outworn,

yet paradigm shift of
     (butter late then ever)
     jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,

whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
     whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations

     ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
     and unto revolutionaries
     became legion and well-worn.

Seoul boy
nice kid, eighteen, from the East
took on the east side
and the west side

story goes,

his mother knew
"much dings"
and his father knew politics, so
"less dings"

his mother was a woman of
words,
spoke of feminists,
spoke of progress,
read many books and
spoke goot engeulish,

"and your job?"
"No, that is your father question."

huh?

his father was a man that
WAS,
ran for a lot and
stood for a lot and
looked far ahead and
above of his head but
never really

seem to
stop? Seoul boy thought,
of Times Square. Times Square.
TIMES SQUARE
everyday, out there
selling shirts that say
"wo-I-NY"
and umbrellas
when it rained.

(and yes, it rained
in the city of dreams)

soft-lookin' kid
hard cash,
best friends with the
homeless "trash", so-called.

"urban campers,"
"friendly locals!"
"fairly loco?"
"lotsa cOcO."

huh.

Seoul boy, working at a
Greenwich pharmacy

first-time paycheck
first-time real job
first-time AC
first-time man ask me

out

there, somewhere
out there.

what?
your home.
my home? yeah.
no. wait what?

this is home
even gay man knew.
even homeless knew.

even Seoul boy knew.

"best place I am live,
'till die."

he said

"best place is
the New York City."

he said

“Any future plan?”, she asked

I told,
“To grow, taller than the height
Heavier than the weight.”

“haha”, her surficial response

I was abstracting my dream.

She thought it is fun,
Nah ! it’s my life.

Let it be.