Qing

By Kevin Wilson

The heights of verdant electric light, where
Ghosts are coughing up guts, chafing meaning, with
Piss buzzing on wires, screens of wind and moon flickering, flipping,
Shitting, sweeping up fuckers, where dusk shuffles off to heaven,
Where twilights dust one off, and paint flakes and flutters, where
Pearls of off-white, half-bright plodding bookists gather bags of
Black rain, if only there were even one pool for my reflection!

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Clear sky about to flip

By Kevin Wilson

Clear sky about to flip
No rain no mist no word no smoke
Dirt hills go soft the wind turns dirt
Out and off one raw round dusk
A coughing ghost unpolished fuel
The music stops the man gets off
Not yet got got there there a coin
Shut out slipped up shit shot slipped out

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My Error

By ​Kevin Wilson

Neither within nor without, no error, no mirror,
Neither dust nor light, no bend, no bump,
Not hollow, without knot, unrung, no schlop, edges of
Rare fog to lend dreams, almost real mist!
The faintness of jade, the palest of buds.

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Kevin Wilson is a ABD doctoral student in Comparative Literature at University of California, Riverside, writing a dissertation on the dialogue between classical Tang Chinese poetry and the great Chinese novel Hongloumeng ("Dream of the Red Chamber.") In addition to producing academic scholarship on historical Chinese literature, Kevin translates classical Chinese poetry into English. He is also a cohost on the podcast Rereading the Stone, a podcast dedicated to historical Chinese literature, poetry, and philosophy.