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Writer's picturethe graveyard zine

Saga Seeds

by: Nina Anin


These saga seeds are from Hades' rivers, no- Yanluo Wang's,

for bleached skin and branded tongue by the passports,

bow tied and wrapped in gold, promising cocoons and contend with forgetfulness

Yes, the patriarchs have planted a temple and lined

the roofs with saga pods, ripe for a dumb supper like monuments

No one stays, not the demons or the joss beggars, this banquet must be silent

electronic cabbages, lithium tomatoes, glass noodles,

Be distracted by the cowboys on the billboard, don't look

at this mess of borders, of junk vessels, but speak

the new dialects to the slashed portraits, and

let the skyscrapers collapse over the grime of the rickshaws,

crushing the red samsui hats of the founders, eroding birthing halls,

building a new world full of F1 drivers


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