by Adam Zhou
flirting in the closet. stop. someone pulling away threads --
advertisements for museums, closed,
but not locked.
it’s a window. untitled, 1992. oil on canvas?
no, just a reflection.
— painting them in ochre colors —
the son of man has only moved itself
further into pollock’s panorama.
the persistence of memory
trapped within la grande chatte’s flood water
— and still the canvas is something to be felt, not looked at —
itself within the human experience.
if only the dynamism of it all
unfurled itself to the streets outside.
— or maybe the lisping voices from behind —
imagine hands smothered
over a parallel universe. hiding.
they clasp onto the melted pigments,
still seeing the dawn, the borrowed body.
— will reveal the self sacrifice. a rhythm so fluidly perpetual.
Adam Zhou has been recognized by the National Scholastics and featured in over 20 international journals, including a full length manuscript forthcoming from Indolent Press. As a junior at the International School Manila, he has been subject to many cultural perspectives and aims to share these through writing.