I live at the foot of Taipei
never had a Taipei air conditioner
I hear Taipei’s lips have bloomed
with the stink of cars

Taipei’s nectar turns into cold cutlery
turns into rows of steak houses
I went to eat the fumes of bath milk
the sounds of the upstairs neighbor’s toilet flushing

I rode my bicycle to pilfer Taipei’s sunshine
netted some Taipei fish
I found the lions and tigers of Taipei
living in my empty stomach

my face living in Taipei grew hungry
thirty zebra crossings
thirty buses worth of hunger

Taipei inserted into the ears
inserted into the airway inserted into the heart’s ruckus
inserted into swimsuit chlorine
slipped into your eyes nose mouth

Taipei under construction
ten thousand real estate flyers
sweep the sidewalks in the rain