It&rsquo;s night one of Aquarius season

&amp; the road is bleached with moon

&amp; spit. I&#39;m looking at my bangs

crusted like a helmet to my face.

I&rsquo;m looking to kill the president

of the USA&mdash;if not the tower, the

hallway, if not his ghost, his hands.

A boy told me once he thought all

girltears were black cause he only

saw his sister cry with mascara on,

that same eye leaking &amp; leaking.

I told him god is a 12 year old girl

leaking all her hidden bitter tears

on a kitchen table.



When I was 12 a nice white lady

mistook me for her adopted

daughter every day after school.

She thought I looked just like her

from the back but I know what

I look like: a lotus flower with a

sideways cunt, lying facedown on

my bedroom floor remembering

how bright animal eyes shine when

they are reflected in car eyes. My

mom doesn&rsquo;t believe in abortions

so she mailed me to Shanghai with

a suitcase filled with breastmilk

as soon as I was born. There are no

stars in the womb but the stars in

Amerika glimmer like cruel babies

in the rain.



Last night I dreamt of a wet block

of tofu falling down an escalator,

step by step, into a shallow eternity.

I know it meant nothing but it went

on all night long. At the end of this

escalator I witnessed god drowning

at a kitchen table. She wants to know

if Amerika is as holy as the textbooks

say &amp; I tell her: Amerika is

a swimming pool filled with spit,

a pile of puke on the nativity scene,

a limp dick on Snapchat,

an artificial plant dying under

a depression lamp &amp; I

have been instructed to build

a synthetic ontology in all

the holy spaces left behind.


Angie Sijun Lou

The Day After the Election I Did Not Go Outside

god is a 12 year old girl