You will stumble on the words of prayers
as if the short rope of your faith
was hindered by knots,
as if religion was a field
with landmines scattered across.

Cultural Stakes — k.a.g

Fetal and feral, we curl
          in our beds,
Fetal and feral, we drink
         in the dusk,
hands damp with loam.
      Old cruses
for sadness
      don't work anymore —

— Sally Wen Mao, from "The Azalea Eaters,"