Listen to Suji Kwock Kim reading this poem. Give me the clarity, the sharpness of a season when things are plainly themselves. No smear of dreaming on the dirt. Let my eye see without seeking more than what’s there, and find what is is sweet. Bleach-fumes. Urine. Cement. Bus-exhaust. Oil glittering on pistons. Soiled needles wrapped in butcher paper. Infinite engine trapped in skin.