Would the world be close to a Supernova implosion
A Champagne Supernova, as they used to sing
Would the world be about to end up in a couple of weeks, say
– wouldn’t it already be happening
I’d bring you here
Over the next weekend
Wouldn’t we be able to wait for the Lantern Days
Here
Where the skyscrapers are anorexic
And they rely on bamboo crutches.
Here, that’s where I’d bring you
Where scoliosis and sciaticas are healed with vacuum cups
– you have to subtract to donate, I learned it here
And human backs become checkers game.
We wouldn’t need masses on Sundays
Just incenses to be brought at the temple
Rice bowls with antenna chopsticks
– Our divine lightning rods.
This would be our last city,
The one after which we would feel no need to move forward:
We would go for picnics where the bridge dives into the sea
Before becoming itself again
And we would have rice paper copies of all our belongings;
We would remember that kids are never to be touched on their heads.
Should you feel lonely, you could just go for a walk to the New Territories
There would always be someone with you, to share the discovery:
A monk, a banker, a maid, a rare animal.
But none of this will happen eventually
No mass extinctions,
Not that fast, at least
No supernovas
What about Champagne, then?
It’s just a Veblen good, definitely overestimated.
It will just be the two of us,
sit on that very isosceles-triangle-shaped rug,
In the dark
While we pretend not to understand each other
And laugh about it
Challenging each other’s leadership on who’s feeling more ‘more or less good’
While the sky
Unprovided with bamboo crutches on that meridian,
Will take us by the occiput
With its portoro hands
A cherub’s cry as only soundtrack and geographical coordinate
Without
Paying us
The over-expected
Attention.