Wandering Stars

Consortium of oracular undulancy,
A troop of constellations made of constant lies,
Drop the bombs! Set us on fire eternally!
The cereals won’t get cooked until
This dismantlement of dreamed-up walls is over.
I will run out in my birthday suit for the war,
Forward unto dawn without her rosy-fingers.
Let this irate steadfastness on the Infinite
Treadmill break any proposed purpose, and burn
Holes in the night sky like a polka dotted field
For the light to get through the cloak
Of Nyx. Multiply, multiply. Yes, say a lie—
This bewitchment of your Big Brother-
Esque watchfulness, Starry Night! You are
A fat tree of incandescent lighting hung
With wet eggplants; a pure conception
Of a supernova. Swiftly take off the bandage
From a fresh wound on this singed flesh,
Let life pour out from the raw cut.

Jack Jung is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where he was a Truman Capote Fellow. His translations of Korean poet Yi Sang’s poetry and prose are published in Yi Sang: Selected Works by Wave Books. He is Visiting Professor of English at Davidson College.