Life with Kim Jong il: What the Sushi Chef Saw
Kenji Fujimoto. Portrait: Adrian Storey. Other pictures: Kenji Fujimoto; AFP
Journal Poems: Snapdragons
Snapdragons
I feel like Georgia O'Keeffe behind the lens, transfixed by my silent subjects,
curling, quivering, and caressing themselves.
I am engrossed by this sensuality, stroking against the pot.
I am one with Georgia, both of us celebrating her sex.
The boldness of colour and strength of stem,
mystery of inner thigh and nape of neck.
Our subjects taste of the smell of perfume and sweat,
wiped down with linen-petaled dresses.
Georgia and I, coupled, stroke the chips of stone and reflect on the minute mirrors of impression.
Observe the long strands of body as they sink, slope, and settle downward to rest.
~Durovi
All Rights Reserved
I feel like Georgia O'Keeffe behind the lens, transfixed by my silent subjects,
curling, quivering, and caressing themselves.
I am engrossed by this sensuality, stroking against the pot.
I am one with Georgia, both of us celebrating her sex.
The boldness of colour and strength of stem,
mystery of inner thigh and nape of neck.
Our subjects taste of the smell of perfume and sweat,
wiped down with linen-petaled dresses.
Georgia and I, coupled, stroke the chips of stone and reflect on the minute mirrors of impression.
Observe the long strands of body as they sink, slope, and settle downward to rest.
~Durovi
All Rights Reserved
Journal Poems: Apprehension
Apprehension
I ran into your maze without much thought.
Seized by apprehension, my inner child froze in place,
searched the vaporous air, fog, clutter for a way out.
'Give me liberty or give me. . .not laughter for you, but to comfort my soul.'
There are the Monets I love and incense and you--
you, you, you are smiling.
Caramel, delicate magic in brooding solemnity.
'We have nothing to fear but fear itself'--
but I'm still afraid, here in the vaporous air, fog, and clutter for a way.
Out! Get out! I run in slow motion in a maze of circles 'round circles.
Listen! I hear breathing--
it may be yours, slow and irregular, or mine,
seized by apprehension.
All Rights Reserved
I ran into your maze without much thought.
Seized by apprehension, my inner child froze in place,
searched the vaporous air, fog, clutter for a way out.
'Give me liberty or give me. . .not laughter for you, but to comfort my soul.'
There are the Monets I love and incense and you--
you, you, you are smiling.
Caramel, delicate magic in brooding solemnity.
'We have nothing to fear but fear itself'--
but I'm still afraid, here in the vaporous air, fog, and clutter for a way.
Out! Get out! I run in slow motion in a maze of circles 'round circles.
Listen! I hear breathing--
it may be yours, slow and irregular, or mine,
seized by apprehension.
~Durovi
All Rights Reserved
Journal Poems: I Simply Want You To Know. . .
I Simply Want You To Know. . .
I
simply want you to know that it was strange to realize that there was
no more time for us to talk. They told me you were rolling down the hall
in your motorized wheelchair--I want to imagine it all chromed up and
V8 powered but I know the reality was much less awe-inspiring.
Nonetheless,
you were meandering toward the dining hall for--bacon and eggs? Juice,
jam, and toast? Coffee and complaints? I don't know. I'm trying to
imagine what you might have been looking forward to for breakfast.
The
timing was odd. Did you sense it coming before your power left you? As
your fingers went limp on the chair's controls, did you understand that
you'd have no more breakfasts? Perhaps there wasn't enough time for such
fleeting thoughts.
I
simply want you to know that I wonder about your present journey; that
started with the abrupt end to the short journey to another breakfast in
a longer line of breakfasts that saw a slew of decades pass.
~Durovi
All Rights Reserved
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