Too cold out. There was a blip a spell a bird. Run me a hot bath. A flower falling into the sun. Lilies or thistles for your bedside table? Take this back it’s cold. Take me back I’m cold. Hot soup pooling on the bed. Fill my cup. Met with the family to recover my Mandarin. Burnout is now available in other languages. Wings wind their way down into outstretched pavement. Let me leave. Asking you permission to turn to dust. Could step out. Could be gone. To go somewhere better or to be lost? I miss the smell of burning. Call your mother. Order ancestral reverence. Wait for it to arrive. (The hopeful light of burnt out stars). Make me a new ritual. Anything new. That’s still something. Customs unlost unlaid ungone. Won’t bother looking for them anymore. Had a pork bun the other day. Ate it too fast. Ate time. Ate air. Ate you. Ate good luck and had seconds. Ate hope. Ate worms. Ate fish. Ate dusk. Ate my social battery. Ate all the care you gave. Couldn’t stop eating. Still hungry.

This No Compass edition is supported by Multicultural Arts Victoria, as a part of the 2022 Ahead of the Curve Commissions.

Eric Jiang

Author: Eric Jiang

Eric Jiang is a Chinese-Australian writer/director living and working in Sydney. He has.worked in various forms including print poetry, digital poetry, film and theatre. His work contemplates queer futures, familial cultural exchange, and joy. His poetry appears or is forthcoming in Going Down Swinging, Liminal, Cordite, Rabbit and more.

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