The latest in verse from around the Mekong region.
Hanoi at the dawn of the new millennium – in love with the whole goddamned city and our humdrum lives.
Oh my dear, how still you lie, spread-eagled in the white snow that’s stained with the scarlet pools of your blood …
down from the sky
came the holy blueprint,
visions of perfection
‘Said a tourist, ‘I have to refute, That the durian should count as a fruit, With its scent and its taste, Of lavatory waste. Wrapped up in an old army boot.’