the girl knows oppa and saranghae
but if you showed it to her, like: 오빠 or 사랑해
she would not know how to make those odd
lines of man, earth, sky
into the bright music that she sings in the dark.
She knows 김
is said as “Kim,” because
it’s the beginning part to names like Kim Seokjin
and Kim Jongdae. She knows her boys are dying,
their muscles shrunk to lean dreams, their smiles
camera-crafted and too-cute, good enough for the screaming
girls, but not enough to keep out the hate
and desperation that comes at 3 a.m. when you have been in the studio
for seven hours and there’s two variety shows
scheduled too soon. It is still a dream, though,
isn’t it? After all, who am I
to judge if the 미국 소녀
whispering oppa is enough to keep
the boy on the other side of the ocean
alive?
the last pavilion 