Chi An is not too old to walk By Joe Swift (Chi An) What? Too old to walk? Don't be ahead of yourself. I'm too young to crawl, too young to thaw, Not rhyming but chiming, I wish the seconds be dead, Six beats before dusk, six feet after musk, I would fly, if I must, if I bust, if I lust, I would dry, if I rust, if I must, if I dust, I would fry, I would try, I would cry, I would lie, I would buy the moonphase fountain at Green Ridge High, For colors in charcoal, in Warsaw, in succour, You strike a funny chord, You pick your teeth from the keyboard sewer, Wallflowers smiling, laughing, giggling, Silently wondering about Golden Turtle Creek, You're Asian, aren't you? Asked the telephone wire attendant, Chewing two packs of lemon gooseberry gum, There's somebody looking for you on the other end. The other end? The other end of what? A fishing line? Fate? Reason? Life? Death? What? Just answer, will you? You will find out pretty soon. Who's that? I am a soul thief, said Mona Lisa's kitten, Imported from Persia, not Russia, not Ferusia, Ironing her wedding gown in brine, Burning pearly gloves, turning thirty soon, Turning, turning, turning, Into porcelain bowls, Into silver chopsticks picking, ticking, licking The secrets of China at tapered tips, Clipping at the food, forgetting the essence, You are not brown, are you? Golden Turtle Creek is a virus! From this apex, everthing you see, shall be destroyed. Men, women, computers, cartoons, stories, sex, coffee, cars, jobs, Towers, flowers, you in the mirror, left becoming right, Wrong becoming Wright, birdy people, copper steps, saphire elevators, Newspapers, neon hells, the oxygen you inhale, the mouse you race, Click, clock, click, clock, click, clock, Round and round the merry roulette wheel, Spinning threads of red, tying souls, Mixing the old with the new, At the bottom of a crooked well, She found a Batik postcard, written in untidy cursive, Will you meet me atop Empire State, 5.47 p.m., If it's not closed, next valentine? Signed a nervous Vracula. Forgive me if I bored you, but I AM BLIND. Save the paint. Just tell about you, Ma, Ma, Mia. I still have my ears! Am I worth but three lines? God speed, Cat.