Zihao Lin


Undergrowth: lady

in russet, her nine tails

sweeping beds

of foliage. Earth creaks

on its axis as she bays

for soft human liver.



Man rises at the

light’s first break

through glass, steps on a

9 o’clock Seoul subway

toward Gongju foothills

and begins his trip

to hell. Portrait of a

working man: skinned

to the bone.



Lady takes the

hunter’s stride. Her hair

is her whip; her canines,

scepters. She preys

on a body under forest

leaves, man’s gouged

gut foaming opal like a

riverbed burning in