where Tang ain’t a drink

Much magic swirling. Late Saturday calm. Lowest electric charge sparkling the church bell air. Dong dong, dong dong, dong dong.

“Wait for it,” Saturday says. “Wait for it.” Too old to date. Breaking hearted. Someone please confiscate these leaf blowers. Planet sighing, every unnecessary decibel. Rakes? Brooms?

What’s with the only Dr. Wu?

This week’s pronoun-less, let-it-all-hang-out, quietly now, fit-and-start posts have been brought to you by Dr. Wu and Francois Cheng’s “Chinese Poetic Writing.”

So rich, this sparcity.