The dynasties of old

The cool waters of catastrophe. Incendiaries sliding through solid air. Twisted vines around our lives, bind us to tomorrow. You’re a cold leap into darkness. An arrow through the pelvis. The king is coming home. Comforting hands on the tablecloth. The wrinkled lines of fate. The switchboards of our surrender. The waters where we lay. I am an adjective. An archive of the way we looked back in the old days. Could you compile a list for me? Of the places we visited and why we went? Fingers down drainpipes. Gold in the gutter. The teacher’s ink dried on our faces. The curtains pulled tight around us. Korea sank into the ocean. Objects bubbled up to the surface. Old men ascended into the air with the help of birds flocking. The dynasties of old.