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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.


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