the poetry that matters

Jun K. Lee

Jun K. Lee is a writer and illustrator living in Calgary, Alberta. He writes poetry, fiction, writes/draws comics, and writes and scores films. He has published in filling Station magazine, in various magazines online, and his poetry has appeared in exhibitions with accompanying illustrations around Canada. Some of his work can be seen at his website here: http://floristandbicycle.blogspot.com/


In the year’s shadow
(under its umbra) Lurks like
the lur (torrential). From
within this sigma
the cross-legged ephebe
affects a hat wearing posture
     hats that only the world sees;
     pale palaces for
            the imprisonment of
Seed strewn coiffures
stretched like skins into.

These blond hands
are for the shadows walk
along the hallway’s girth
wry digits gesture
received into private quarters
the aleph and his companions.

The world opens its architecture
like a tomb
overgrown with it. Are
forever clasped arched windows
Vine hearts or
Hymn veils (over glued hymnals)
by way of walking.

Me and you,
(a water birth or a drowned man?).
I see the civet
stream soundless through
the taper that points
from the shirt’s archway.
Outside, braided in flowers
(the locus is surrounded) Braided and
finely feathered, finned;
These shades begrudge
as thin nimbuses
obscure their lens/folds
over beneath their felt knees.

            Witness; the encomium
remains spherical despite
waxy nose broom’s quick brush.


Shedding the rust red falls.
When visors view the
vice have (made the) Dust tinted
years passed by me
more a sepulcher (than an archer’s plinth).
Purring new fulcrums
wind around a pair of feet
   floods of eye water.

When the pin pierces
What crib houses have
the unhatched song (For it
to stifle like an oiled kerchief?)

These comic portcullises are
no match (are matchbooks
collapsed by crystalline fingerflicks)
For the Time when I
felt its sickle swing.


From the corner of the canthus
 decants from the Paper Veil
to slip within its supine V.
There within a circular house
the symbols sway, held on
reed sticks the likes of
which are carried by leafy ladies
       (these from an arboreal night that
            dresses of);
Renders that speaking cannot
rely the cant nor the
nomenclature that
gives the object its full shape
(florid and rotund).

Therefor mouth sets
are only earpieces for the
unraveling of
Your Next Postures
       (the ones required to put
the bread in the hole).


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                                                                                                                                   April 30, 2011