Don Mee Choi
Twin Flower, Master, Emily
1. Dear Twin Flower,
Only – true men – survive. Prior to military pornography, one never thought about petroleum byproducts. Tarzon bomb – a thing of the past – forgiven and forgotten. Daisy Cutter – lags! Consent is everywhere – Geography – Eternity! Terminate the notion of class when carrying out simulated bombing runs. Division is threadlike – scallop-toothed – a pretense of some kind – willed arbitrarily. It takes approximately twenty minutes to cut the waist of a Third World nation. Excellent yet inferior – this is why – we bang-bang in the woods. It is every man’s dearest wish.
Yours, Master
2. Dear Emily,
For poetry – I have you. One need not be a House – One need not be a Nation or a
Master for that matter. Delicate and beautiful, common in rich mossy woods, in pairs, we live. We are crimson-pink, particularly in the mountains. The rough terrain is not visible to many, but somewhat green and fatigued, demilitarized! A nod from far away is hollow.
True men – How shall I greet them? Nation building is kind and generous. It is common to decline it. Emily, Shall I – bloom?
Yours, Twin Flower
3. Dear Twin Flower,
Your sister left me – she was cheerful – though maddened – knows the doings of Master. In fact – she lives it! Regretfully small and anxious – frequently far from home –
Do stay! I am so near myself – Your sister is too. Near – Far – how was it arranged? Suicide is not an option – perhaps Resistance. Send me a portrait of your Distance!
For politics – I have Walter – white racism which came to pervade the world was an integral part of capitalist mode of production.
Yours, Emily
4. Dear Master,
I do! Autogeography, I do! Deeply lobed, in defiance of pretentious form, I push a petal from my Gown. An orator, born from jets, never met a translator. Orator, map out a wasteland between the front and the Chinese border. Such is – neocoloniality. I do! Autotranslation, I do! History can confront napalm. Sister’s madness is as good as mine. We make the biggest picture in the world. Shallow and spiked, nodding in air, we endure barbed wire. Daisy Cutter can touch us, cut us, demolish our petals. Our gown can stain like a drape. Translator for hire! Hire me. See you at DMZ!
Yours, Twin Flower