The Multiplex Farm
Picture the border of a farm
twisted above your head in a flat plain—
and so, the layers of Earth stacked one by one
like deformed lego pieces. And we lived
on the 14th floor where the air is thick with dew.
The places where we walked did not touch the ground:
Ground was everywhere. Ground was nowhere.
and so the grass patches spiral upward
toward the sky, full of vegetation.
But one day, all of this stacked Earth
will collapse and we have to start over again.
Ration the corn stubs, the crumbs on the floor,
spider webs gathered on a stick, last year leftovers.
Roast the weeds from a garden, the moldy bread,
something I ate last year that I stepped on today.
Fill our bellies with the dirt mounds, Sewage water,
pages from vintage books, fried rubber boots with ketchup.
Today, we feast—
whatever fits inside will do.
Look at the Numbers
When I told you to look at the numbers, I wasn’t kidding.
All those zeroes lined up behind my name were true.
That was my bank account and how much I owned.
Watch me add a few more zeroes on screen, and you
will see more. This is how much of the world I could buy,
how much I could be spending. If we just print more money
and give it to our neighbors. They are numbers, I tell you.
Numbers to save this world—we just have to imagine it.
Yuxing Xia plans to retire to a self-sustaining ostrich ranch. His senseless scribbles can be found at Strong Verse, Society of Classical Poets, Boston Literary Magazine, Otoliths, Star*line, Eunoia Review and elsewhere (see yuxingxia.wordpress.com).