the postman of kowloon

given the unenviable task of delivering mail in a cantonese walled city charged with entropy & chaos criss-crossing its aerial corridors conduits they call them linked towers that change positions days how the garbage piles up forming strata to be studied by future archaeologists � he can never decipher the old city's next move & remains astounded by the most innocuous envelope's habit of finding a home scratching out addresses or the deceased another day a map to discard notice how randomness thrives within the most carefully chosen boundaries first published in my debut collection, "The Happy Farang" (2000)


Anonymous said…
"I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death."

Ah, WB, you've done it again!

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