Gui Jie, Beijing

I'll wait for you on Ghost Street, beneath the paper light
of ten thousand lanterns.

I'll wait for you on Ghost Street, where crayfish sizzle
upon the coals.

I'll wait for you on Ghost Street, where carp skulk
in the silt of forgotten tanks.

I'll wait for you on Ghost Street, where the guitar boys
serenade empty rooms, bare tables, upended chairs.

*

Don't be taken in by the waitress at the Russian joint,
between her legs there is only despair.

Look for the hawker who has lost her teeth,
who has sold her hair in a braided knot.

Look for the hanging sloth of a just-skinned dog,
all purple tissue and silver sinew.

Look for the boy with the copper eyes, sucking bone marrow
...