I Like to Dream of Those Dead Kingdoms
One art of ancient Chinese vivisection
required an executioner sustain
his subject’s wakefulness throughout
a thousand ceremonial incisions,
lest he endure the fate he failed to master.
In those days, you could tell a scholar
by the stained cuffs of his robe-sleeves,
through which he strained sophisticated teas
as he drank. Commissioned engravers
chiseled into the cliffs of sacred mountains –
in fonts fashioned after the emperor’s
hand – giant poems and koans, auspicious
waymarkers for His Radiant Highness
to contemplate upon the mists of heaven.