Our being is a harlequin,

Shackled to Caucasus.


It matters not time nor era, 

The mountain’s peak, our eternal rest,

Where the cycle of infinity ignites into progress

Again, and again, without an end.


For a mountainous expanse,

Of overflowing feed 

Or perhaps in a trance,

From that irresistible greed


Our swinelike lust burrows deep into its saddle

Driving us off a cliff of destruction.


Oh, how we mourn our own follies with the finest extravagance

We’ll cry for what’s done

And rejoice for its end

While some empty oaths cackle in the great, stoic halls


And it won’t be long before the piglets forget

Before they too, become lustful swine 

Barreling down the path of their progenitors 


Thus, the cycle of infinity ignites into progress

Again, and again once more.


But who is to blame?

After all, it is our liver that delights the great eagle

Who we bred and raised with the finest feed,

Clasped in the palms of our history with utmost care.

Writer –Daniel Kang
Editor – Aaron Huang
Artist –Rufina Chan

–May 2024–

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