by KELLIE ASMUSSEN
Swishing movement amongst broken clatter
its penetration a mere glimpse
to those clad in black and blue,
squatting within everything but hay.
Blackened teeth stand marking the land,
momentarily breaking the constant colour
of tarnished grass-like fields
set off by the last hue of season’s run.
Clatter, clatter: no neck-straining buildings here.
The attraction maintained. Not stilled,
thousands continue the Chinese shuffle,
viewing an unearthed hindrance
not so valuable to the masses.
Clatter, clatter: only tombs of dynasties
Xi’an, now old news and no longer capital,
holds the majority within its walls and awaits
one commonality, sticky like glue but
altogether fit for survival.
Only the clatter, clatter. Clatter, clatter
momentarily disturbs the drive of a nation,
drying all that is everything
on foreign tracks that allude to distraction.
– Henan province, China