Dear Jim,

204 lbs later, it is November, 2005.
The whole town has come into my room
but Kings do not touch doors.
I’ve reached Prague and in two days
it will all be mine. Night is a constant echo.
With dialogue, I wait for the taxi, sweet and abandoned.
The pond smokes continuously.
Give me that last menu and a cigarette,
I’m going back to Sinchon.