“C’mon, give me Narcissus,” the photographer yells at her male model.

Months later, I am frog-eyed, stumbling drunk;
bronze bowls of milky-white makkoli rimmed,
spilling on the oak tabletop occupied
by tall, high-nosed foreigners, end-to-end.

I misspell finantial,

on purpose
who the fuck is
General Tso
they like his chicken
now strip mall domesticated
masses crave and always get
options

First king of Corinth I was evil and took

pleasure in tyranny, murdered my guests

and deflowered Merope of the Pleiades,

the virgin nymph who hides her face for

shame she married me