Poetry, Tang Lanyun
so it goes today and on all other days
taxi cabs course through the veins of the city,
their searchlights sweeping the rain
for the next mute, ghostly passenger.
the brothels the snake-eyed salarymen
the noble street dwellers —
the whore goes to bed in the house of venus. the drifter
who wrote God into
the eyes of boys on street corner carousels
the dead star you used to watch all the time,
who shone so briefly and gorgeously
on the television screen.
you’re turning it off, lying on your side.
Tang Lanyun (she/her) is an occasional writer, full-time student, and longtime sufferer who is, on occasion, able to grit her teeth and write about herself in the third person. She spends her days navel-gazing and imagining how wonderful it would be to feel everything there is to feel, all at once.