Millenial Dust (pt.4)

i won't pretend to understand suicide.

thich quang duc did not commit suicide.

he gave up his life in an attempt to save others. like in an old buddhist tale, where the buddha would cut the flesh from his arm, down to the bone, to feed a starving animal. so what's it like, then, to be considered healthy and of sound mind, in a sick world?

Millenial Dust (cont.)

Fruit from the Hawthorn tree

craggy, quickthorn

shame on these poems

and live comfortably

on the company

its all lies says Fat Joe

at least 95 percent of it

you lie in creativity

and brush back your hair

Dream Labor Dreams

my surgeon has a new boss

and she toss like a boss

I thought I'd go back to work-

work on a poem that is

170 pounds and Chinese

in its many forms

At the art museum I looked at a drawing

of a Chinese man, hands up over his ears,

he wore the queue hairstyle

called the Sandlot Riots of 1877

a violent three day attack

on SF's Chinatown

at a labor rally organized

by the Workingmen's Party

now the Socialist Labor Party

I wake up from my Labor dream

my surgeon is now my boss

my boss of white light and she pulls

out my heart and lungs

but a poem in my fist

Millenial Dust (cont.)

silent and unsilent

about the pain of others

all I can do here

is reexamine our long standing

friendships

some of us who have 

want for nothing

can only criticize fantasies

talk about the same films from

America's heyday

even that term, America

sits in the past

at my one on one we talked about

Home Alone 1 and 2

and I thought it to a point sadistic

the way Kevin toyed with his invaders

and I thought of him not

as a victim but as a maniac

written by those who sought pleasure

from pain and we call that now

a classic tale of Christmas comedy

Millenial Dust (cont.)

wounded, shuddering,

a child that is the source of blood

we'd been out,

a van pulls up

and out comes normal

               everyday people

a woman sits down

she catches her breath

lights a cigarette

artillery smoke fills

the reflection

of her thin sunglasses

my friend didn't get

the job he wanted

but it became a million poems

I wish I could take

those hardwritten poems

and fuck all you sons of whores

with 'em

I gave him my Heinekens

and some of those

fat blueberries from Wegmans

they're as big as grapes

he says

I saw an ad that made

me both horny and patriotic

anything but completing

my parent's Medicare

                       applications

when I got word from my

mother that our relatives

abroad, a maternal uncle,

his wife, and two young

adult sons, successfully passed

their visa interview

a dull dread fell over me

Millenial Dust

The night is a beautiful night––
I let go of yr hands as
you cross the room toward
                        the light

my face is flush and wild with flowers
I'm drunk on the brain like a
poem in a new used book
and before morning I'll be
swollen with love

I want to give someone
a recommendation for a volcano
but I've never been
to the islands

--

Generations of Color

there I am and here we are
generations of color
might ween us
and like all mustered
feminine power

and all we have to do is
destroy the legacy of
                       legacies
until then I might
be nowhere with you

you can have whiskey and
Portuguese donuts––
malasadas
and the body is still here
loose, whip-like,
and itching with the new
generational love drive––
not death––
it's own thing

old light

you read old light,

take sips of smoke,

yellow gatorade then yr

stomach turns

it's all making yr own

inspirations

linguine in one end,

poems out the other

a flea market in the

lot of yr father's union hall

Local 19,

like that old swap 'n' shop

across the bridge 

an ocean then,

bought the swords and the

stands—

it sits like a menacing

joke in the corner

of the bedroom

the point is I've gotta

create a drawing for the

front cover of ryan's

book

while my beautiful

fiancée rides 

the stationary bike

my neck is a thousand

pebbles

new poem

another hard day at the wawa mines
a 12-hour shift makes the mind mush
an 8-hour shift makes the body crumple
graphic designer or laborer it doesn't matter
i turn off the computer to turn on another
and in a spell i read several poems by warren and cindy
it makes me remember for a moment how to be a person
and of course my instinct is to take a photo of one of their poems
and post it to my instagram stories since it's the way
i keep in touch with most of you
and when i see that you're the first to view it
it makes me want to write this poem

there's a lemon behind that cat

Two rocks fell into our backyard
each rock was partially painted
as if they broke off from a mural
but I don't know if they came from the same place

the rocks sit on the table outside
which is covered with lemon-patterned cloth
one night during dinner, I looked out of the window
at the two rocks and worried

that Orphea the cat may hurt herself
when she jumps down from the wall to the table
where she suns herself
a black cat rolling on yellow lemons

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falling

think of what you'll write
in one thousand years
think of the unbearable art

in the urge to create I stumble
before I hit the ground
I make Falling art

but now I'm old
and Falling hurts
more than it did

remote

it's okay
i work
better from home
i've seen the sea
on both sides
had my feet in 'em
dreamt up friends
who then came
and gave me love
if you crouch
the wind passes over
because you are not there
to resist as smoke curls,
streams, and pirouettes

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Doanh's Gift

work poem

the toes go first

i'm looking down
i'm looking down

you're zipping up

i tell you about
scarf tying techniques

kung fu and ping pong

they're not stereotypes they're true

i shake my head in the wind like an early human

and shake up the hot hands in my pocket

looks like i'm masturbating

to stay warm

a group of white men

guffaw over the homoerotic statuette

and say this is an awful place

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My Words

visions

Two trees cross each other.

Gargling in the late morning

I remember not to imitate jellyfolk.

I spit, make sound.

No, it wasn't a vision,

it was quite real. 

You and your barefooted visions.

I wipe my tears away.

People think I'm a fool

because devils and angels 

like my company.

I am a child sitting in grassland

that sings of still Heaven.

When my mood drops

I take water through my lips

and smoke through my teeth.

The landscape boils, air

becomes semi-solid

turning us into ghosts.

All ghosts cry.

I cry without bitterness

or reproach.

I turn toward your kiss

on my face.

cardiac

What of writing
that does not touch you?
I am inside the sun
and all touches me.
In my narrow line of life
I dream up all the splinters.
Waking quietly
walking outside
chewing still night
and rubbing my chest
over my heart
where pain dulled.

cookis for breakfuss

And the very best thing of all
there's a
counter on this ball
so skip it, skipit

two zingers four dollar tacos
vaguely that night i became less serious
even if i could've come back that day
paper of the same thickness

what an odd method
i reach into this bag
and put paper in my mouth
two times i took one
but it was homework

so whip it, whippet good
i sat on sunset stoop
make sure i can't leave
bring a friend, something
dumb in the short term

now regular unemployed
tendency to giggle job
work at temple
necronomicon job

never sounds like the moments
that come out of my mouth
couldn't get through the holes
couldn't get past their eyes

all night falls on a red brown house
it pisses itself from the central air
and gets dwarfed over the years
with more friends around the corners

tenmen

At her party
there were
t   e   n   m   e   n
to each woman
and there were two women
he sold vinyl and pretended
to ask me the question,
"isn't poetry dead?"
but I'm not

this poem instead of the book

there is nothing but the book.
you must make the book.
the book is godly.
the book is human.
the book shows and the book tells.
the book will repulse and the book will compel.
the book will gather and the book will leave you.

5:00

if I shy away a shutter sounds somewhere
point breeze partly sunny partly trash bag
on wotans day november 15 high of 53
low of 46, not bad, it'll hold throughout the week
60 minute ale, catch my phone before it hits the floor
the envelope falls too and hides its face
renew my driver's license before my 30th birthday
January 14

do you think we're right on track
for a new dark age of humanity
some 26 thousand years

is life imitating art supplies
or am I worrying the mother
at AC Moore trying to get watercolor paper
this one is 140 lb for only a quarter more than the 90 lb
this is actually just for a child

actually I
was a child once
who painted
watercolors

the eye

flume shadow split in two
dark and tad darker
knuckles one and two
by the window nov 8
I stand up to see
on Wotan's day
not a single right angle
on a south Philly row
elephant's ear caught my eye
I scratch it on the pad

the mop

eleven eleven
I'm a bed dancer
fleece on my belly
that's all I need now
she gives me the mop
I love it, I tell her give me the mop
I love it when I get the mop
from her
she drags her wet cool hair
slowly down my chest
she thinks the mop
isn't the best name for that
I admit to her
it ain't sensual

barnes, joe's

Borf borf. I'm
yr huggy bear.

It's like
Steve Jobs
watching
the Lakers
play.

Someone to
come home
to, to
make me
macaroni
salad!

Man says 'that
coffee spot...
on Market Street.'

A small tree
bends in the
wind
I waiting for
the right time to
go into work.
It's a Monday
and it's fall in
Philly.

I store all the
work in my belly
that's why.

I take a 15 minute
break to kill myself.

He wasn't slowing
down,
he was movin' fast
like a glance
at an attractive
stranger

the lights at
home remain off
I'm a token short
a bus behind
someone wishes it
was Friday

hot cider
follows new
signatures
one long bulb hangs
like the ash
off my cigarette.
don't get bored
just yet
check the tracker
there's no tax
no tag hanging
off of you

I'm gonna leave
you
for the pyramids
we are closer to
the age of
Cleopatra than
she was to the
age of the pyramids.

if I wear a
dress to the Barnes
how will I play
ping pong afterwards

I've looked at
the photos,
it's not a bad
place.

Grow up in this
country with the
idea of inferiority

you watch a
sitcom and get
high

it's a meat
market
the ratio is off
a meat market
for ppl tired of
the bars.

meek cuts thru
rottenhouse pork.

mtn

laid in the rec field with a keyboard
yes no yes no
it was a very strange childhood
yes no yes no
i would definitely do it again
yes no yes no
not as fun as psilocybin
not big lots
i don't remember the sunday flute
to the hurricane i wore a tie and suit
barely paying attention to this can of worms
you know what that was?
that was a multi-level pyramid scheme
it's also a single mother and her daughter
in the form of a health shake
so put a glass mug in the freezer
i'm crazy for wanting to know how it feels
my laceless boots have cherry heels
when you do sound you don't have to listen to people
let me end that sentence for you
settle back into an easy rhythm
wait for my cue when i hear my name
\ nonsense is a creamy kiss in this environment
some years down the line
they'll ask you about that project
that got away, that drifted off
you're still employed
and you live on a mountain
yr hair grey
like the
mountain

Job Poems

1.

the poor line
my poor tea m but
god I love this tea m
I love these people
I love this job
this job I tell em
ignore the voicemail I left
it said to use up an hour of pto
if I'm late
I'm late because some young woman
darted out in front of the double 17
this bus'll blow you apart
but she had to make it
to the starbucks
she had to flip
the driver the bird
while grinning having just cheated death
and I'm gripping a jerk
nearly broke my teeth
the director wanted to meet
he set a time but not a place
I said yes I'll meet you at no place
and after I'll get these sutures out my mouth
I'll even keep the sutures in
for a job I'll grow a new tooth
just not on delaware Ave
I cross over the tracks
I walk a mile in these boots
then return them at Nordstrom Rack
the new receptionist knows I'm there
without looking at my face.




2.

the first word is her bosom
the second word is watching
sam jackson sing for capital one
when I close the Gregory Corso tab
I furret through his garbage
run out on the chance of fucking his wife
is it Ah-re-chi-bo or Ah-re-see-beau
either way no one is responding
just mortal farts of stars and moons
all the beats wrote of cum
they saw dead men in their silver dollars
I flipped and made a two-faced decision
I help out a man and in the wreckage of his work
he identifies me as the sole arbiter of his misery
now mrs. so and so cannot get her property tax rebate
I make suggestions in the LED quiet
every night I greet a new custodian
Maria was in an auto accident
I think of her
Oronde is a painter, but you would never know that
because he emptied yr waste basket once
you didn't say a word
and you never saw him again




3.

I fear no holy congressman cumming on his phone
$300 slacks pancakes over whole-cut balmorals
on a beautiful marble floor rife with piss and shit
as those two are forever in matrimony
regret sending messages to the sky
is the same as quickly cutting off eye contact
man is a cigarette wedged in the recess of an ashtray
he'll melt if you press him hard enough
at the end of my shift I place three packs of mustard
one pack of soy sauce neatly at the edge of my desk
and cover both monitors with a large white sheet of paper
it says "work" over monitor 1
and "work" over monitor 2
they are effectively my eyes for 9.5 hours
the air conditioner sounds like leaves in fall wind
the leaves in fall wind sound like car horns in rain
the rain smells like the lover I haven't earned
at the potluck I spy the last piece of fried chicken
being polite I begin wedging a plastic knife into it
and Shanice says, "Quyen, if you don't eat that
whole piece of chicken..."





4.

breakfuss is a mad bus dash, bus dust
stranger accordion make its slinky way to work
so find yrself a morning partner
coffee is a black growlwl and sugar a soot belchc
I feel it up to my ears when I tip over
there's a Keurig river in Guatemala
its inhabitants stare dumbfounded
but you know nothing when you live upstream
the word "Inspire" is on the counter
but I can only see the "ire"
you only keep the veil up so long
until the thermos sputters "fuck you, make more"
I'll make more until my lunar birthday
my legal sex is getting thrown through plate glass
I'm the people of the future you wrote of
I'm a sledgehammer away from every token in the system
you'll keep an eye out though won't you?
I see it coming now I rush through rottenhouse pork
as a shortcut and beaming I pinch a coin and say

cheers

i don't know

i don't say

i just put thumbs

in his sockets

spin and toss him

like italian master da spinci

come on give

me sleep cycles

or give

me consumer fireworks

UN0336

deep house

mr crackle

i'm on my nap couch

writing a dan poem

feeling damn solemn

reaching my pentacle

gag on the pinnacle

cool whip yr property

a man is on yr property

shoot him with america

eat him out of health

through selfless window self

push push push push push

if you'd only fuck with it a little

i wouldn't have to write it

mother tears on my shoulder

well traveled

toward heaven
un C yr spine
T it up
W sugar
coffee
cocoa
brown
hands
feeding
an empire
take breaths
+$4.00 add avocado
cancel this avocado now
and accept surcharge
avocado has been en route
for over five minutes

longwood

pump those
lil legs
squeezing
her thigh
in denim
round and
round for
parking
taking
the
middle way
eco mode
on the
hybrid
brandywine
and the
real wine
kennett
square
kung-fu
freak storm
chased us
if I die now
I left
a clean car

bobonauts

didn't know he was an actual artist
til i came across this
trick is you gotta print it
ephemeral screech fan
a window is a box for a fan
a box is a window into anywhere
hand me ash children
don't drink IPAs but now that you have one
a learning lesson gets lighter
it's between that box and a joint and fine art
a buncha likes floating around a kitchen for fourth of july
in front of the hair spot promised land
what are you doing for the fourth
cats are dead half the time
i get it it's day four philadelphia projexts
everybody just clicks
there's no applauding to make sense
give me those fucking lasers
80 years if i'm lucky isn't

Trapping

O thar she blo suh
the arrival of plants on land
the arrival of fur-bearers
the french the british the americans
came for riches
stayed in their niches
moved their heads independently
pointing their jaws
call it innovation
i make my neck move
tectonic patterns put out models
put out good models of suvs
i'm a low-fin fish
here's my low fin
called a limb now
some weirdo in a library
in the lab early
we all have a humerus
let's bend together and allow
let's punt around and be nice
now we're on land
crescendo
feeling it
limbs
up

coo

Life is a lark
in Willow Grove park
old woman on the bus
black woman is the spark
she found joy in the babe
her eyes and her smile
small grasping hands
the coo of a child
pale skin and blushed cheek
old and young and
I in between
when we cross to the end
we'll wind up at the start
because life is a lark
in Willow Grove park

eclypse

I am window
with bars and lace
and pink secret
black petroleum
bucket of bay mussels
rotting in August sun

I am foreign
banana plant
from seed
Auntie slips me
an envelope
inside is a
hundred dollar bill
for helping her
file weekly

I accept with
both hands
thinking
it's too much
Today the
sun'll be eclipsed
but I cannot see
so I sit in the
small yard
smoking just to keep
everything off of me

Nothing of sixteen
was sweet
crack thru black
metal guardian
crack top heineken
with my thumb
indentation,
always a man yells
somewhere over
the wall

the walls are
plentiful
like amendments
between people
and their words,
strawberry stamp
a thank you
note for little
coordination
younger you and I

push a cart
onto a corner
to drink tea
and
  build up
strangers by the
sidewalk --
a pavilion erected
on vine holds
no chess games
just mates

I know
what has
happened to
my vision --
when I speak
to you I am
left dazzled
can only hear
a single white
beater reflecting
sun on a line

vast elephant
weed becomes
a tree through
neglect --
and so father
must climb and
cut and chop
while white
neighbors through
branches peek

now it's over
the roof
so now it's
too late
to unroot!
while I
sweat the
grasshopper eats
sunflower
leaves.

dreamt song 14.17.17.8

The world is sick. We must not say so.
After all, a muzzle flashes, the world web burns,
we the people flash and burn,
and moreover my father told me as a boy,
in Cantonese, in good weather
do we find wood for the rain.

Now violet evening I feel it pouring
out of our eyes and mouth.
The twin Comcast tower is a drag,
and somewhere underground, a man
has an entire rotisserie chicken
to himself.

At 18th and Fed I run a five buck tab,
this tiny sardine my escapism,
chopped lettuce mayo anna pickle
I step outside to feel no trickle
but the tailwind of the double 17
think, "call 215 GET-A-CAB".

er

Rise on empty

no Chivas no Dunhills

Marlboro & Grapefruit

Besaid Island alarm

Taeko Onuki's Copine

South Jersey Metal's conditions

lead me to Woodbury, Deptford, and back
route 41 pitch black

solemn and stoic in chartreuse

I am my father's angel

in that I make sure

he doesn't work himself to death
sippin' on his tiny soda
starin' at his headlights in my rearview
Walt Whitman before me

Jafar

Jafar came to the west end
of Rottenhouse Pork
for the sun he says
found me with it
says
the universe is mental
and with it
what do we know is real
I reply
the I
yes he sits up
excitedly
brings out a shiny red pocket trumpet
not the cornet
waiting to be repaired
see this woman
woman and man
sitting with their newborn
across from us
how do you refer to yourself?
I'm sitting on this park bench
right -- I
he tests the pocket trumpet's range
plays a couple old songs
some of which I recognize
yet the names aren't there
as my name isn't there
escaped him again
that's fine
knowing the name of something
doesn't mean you know anything anyway
that's Feynman
I sketch him as he plays
until the sun disappears
behind the apartments
now it's cold
he stops
says I have a good hand
I say we both do
different ways
he says
alright brother
we bump
shake each other by the forearms
remind him of my name
we part once again
I consider going home
but instead went to Barnes & Noble
across the street to piss
read a tiny Ginsberg book
and wrote

labor

painting a clementine
is like
oh so go-
frustrating,
the light when the day goes
holding him by rope
holding everything for my father
shining light onto him
onto whatever he sees
when the light goes
the labor of clementine
in my right synthetic sable
my left the very real fruit

well I

weight!  less
fresh fruit
ew mean to tale me
nobody
and  You nobody
groan love me

when day go la la
date grow fine meat
I reach my maximum
       
cries, answer, cries, answer, cries
           answer, cries

Identity cries sis
everything goes with the river

and the cars
the smoke
red brick

red black
cries sis of my heart
all swell that end swell
well I swell fat

siamese

too bad nobody likes poetry
said my old teacher

he sent me Maged Zaher's poems
and after reading one 

I thought about you,
reincarnated as a buttery cake
I asked but you weren't sure about reincarnation

it's tied into the caste system !

damn, I hadn't even thought of that

I thought of the second line
of what the cats said in Lady and the Tramp,
"We are Siamese if you don't please"
I repeated this line in my head
shit made no sense to me
I tucked myself into your hip tat
into Madonna's Material Girl
when you do your stretches
all of a sudden
I'm the best personal trainer
I'm your personal trainer
I'm Siamese if you please
I'm Siamese if you don't please
whatever the fuck it means

u

      U prefer
the personal
touch that U
can only get
with hired goons

the doctor was
randomly selected

by a blind algorithm
and a black hand

put yr head right
 the fuck here
for Us
dragimout like
a blood lemon

Attention all
passengers
our pilot is
having a seizure,

is anyone on board

a doctor?
yeh, yall fucked him
 up real gook

he's in the corner
mumbling
gibberish
kill me.
just kill
me. just
kill me.

Inside the Chest

The man didn't know how heavy one stepped without the presence of floorboards. All the times he was outdoors, whether on concrete sidewalks, linoleumed floors of both massive and humble institutions, or the uneven ground of the forests, everyone he knew stepped weightlessly. The clicks of heels, the squeaks of sneakers, or the slapping of sandals on dirt, none of which ever gave him pause to think on how much weight a human being carried in their footsteps.

Just one of the many things that reminded him daily on how peaceful it would be to not have to live with other people. The floorboards of the old South Philadelphia row home, a three-story house, once a rarity on the block, squelched, creaked, and thundered at all hours of the evening. On the days that he never left his room, writing in silence, he imagined living with a baby rhinoceros, that from time to time would have to tumble awkwardly down the stairs to get food and water from the kitchen. His mind would trace the baby rhinoceros's path back up the stairs and into its room, as if he were using echolocation.

The day was a bust, if he had to describe it. A bust for creative endeavors. He drew in ink a large Japanese-style bottle of beer and a little glass beside it, full with its fizzy head. Beside the glass, a simple sandwich of lettuce and tomato. No one would even know that the bread had a cream cheese spread, let alone the kind of cream cheese that has chives, he thought. Details like this are either always impossible to convey on behalf of the artist or impossible to detect on behalf of the observer. To anybody else, this was a lettuce and tomato sandwich. To him, it was a lettuce and tomato sandwich with cream cheese and chives.

He capped his pen in resignation and pumped some hot water from his thermos into a mug of green tea leaves. Sipping it, he thought of a television series he had recently come to love -- Samurai Gourmet. In one episode, the protagonist, having volunteered to be an extra on a film set, looking forward to a free catered lunch, is told a story by a much more experienced extra about the famed director Akira Kurosawa. Supposedly, during a shoot, Kurosawa had placed a prop within a chest that was completely off-screen. That prop, he thought, was the same as the cream cheese with chives on the inside of his lettuce and tomato sandwich.

colors

my orange rose hangs to dry
crisp to the finger and ear

today my body is still yellow
purple and red

nothing should be done
but to let my bruises fade

ESOL

to not have
sock showing
how you choose a
seat to how
you hold yr hands
when passing by an
attractive group of
ppl sitting on a
park bench - the
evening is overcast
and I sit down
on my second choice
and say to myself
don't go home
just yet - sit
down - have a
good seat and
write a damn
poem already,
it has been
months -
ESOL manifest
ESOL is having the tools
but not the words -
ESOL is sitting
inside an autosaved doc
ESOL is shrinkwrap
boiled eggs for
a holiday you've
yet to understand
ESOL is doing it
to assimilate -
I've forgotten
to take time again
like my once favorite loaf -
ESOL is an
approaching dribble
and not having
anyone willing to
teach, or to only
receive coach cards
because your gay black
friend didn't think
you cared enough
about football anyway
to want to have a
Deion Sanders or a
Randall Cunningham or
whoever the hell that
was who played for
the Minnesota Vikings
you decide that
was your favorite team.
never have a
clear idea
of Minnesota
in that era - or
maybe you gravitated
toward the color purple
color of royalty,
they say -
but whose royalty?
Not here -
it must've been your
friend's influence
it must've been him
swimming round yr
parent's porch on
A St with the
ball under his arm
asking for you.
ESOL is stealing a
particularly brilliant
marble, only to
stand up and hear
the click on concrete
from where you clumsily
stashed it in yr shorts
grandfather saw

red see

If you're horrified by

Aleppo, give a gift to inspire

Unwrap Speed

Quyen Nghiem, not I,

replied to a comment on this

bring Russian style

kleptocracy to the US,

add salted egg yolk

and you'll get the Big
Mac secret sauce

sauce pls I'm a

little vulnerable now,

why haven't you yet

tumblrized yr sexuality?

Would you like another

martini and talk

about martinis

or wheeling you around

the dance floor

I'll make you two promises,

a very good steak that's

medium rare and the

truth which is very rare

I am not a sore loser,

we are not sore losers,

but I know what can

be gained by losing,

and I'm damn sure

using this 76% off

comprehensive online course

eat com suon out of

newspaper

squatting pot of

mama ramen

look to the east

after Doanh

and close my eyes

fs

at night i sit alone

i think about my team

i share their joys and sorrows

iron bar shortcut

     there's one way to become a comedian - it's thru this poem
come         through Feltonville they'll say we didn't know him
By stood       on my porch offering touch football
half in the            shade that concrete space a place to feel tall
white sun glazed                faded Korean store Hershey's sign
on the corner with some            quarters Pepsi-Kona TV time
cola-coffee sweet like Toffey             buy a composition book
a helping hand from the owner's kid     just like me he looked
Kev in the clouds after public pool ramen        in metal bowls
lotta pepper on that oyeh two bags from the         corner store
can't swim cuz girl took a shit and didn't clean her           butt
weekdays was good morning weekends was what's up
stay together young lovers that was mom and dad
her crying on a blue stoop never saw anyone that sad
and when I go back I get the feeling that I've never left
realize worse things in this life and the next to accept

e. loudon (for mei)

        Mei

beautiful    as this country
that bears yr name

took a ride with me on the blvd
from C st to Holme Ave
to find three nail guns in my father's garage

when the old neighbors died
eldest aunt bought the place
rife with americana

 in the basement Smith-Coronas
multiple plaques from Adams Lanes
two Super 8's in their case, a juke

I was there to help my father
stucco Mary's second story
then got her life story

she was from Yugoslavia
stuffed a grocery bag of peppers
                                from her garden

into my arms
and kissed me
rapidly

zato-itchy

my god am i itchy
an itchy boy
can't itch it
beb sez cuz
that's how she sez it
i say it's scratch not itch
you don't itch an itch
you scratch it
though i can't scratch it
just gotta write it

aspects of the pulse

The pulse should be taken
at the calm dawn
when the yin energy
has yet to stir
and the yang energy
has yet to disperse
food and drink have
yet to be taken
and the vessel channels are
not yet overly active
whether the five depots
are in surplus or deficient
whether the six palaces
are strong or weak
outside hammer on wood
man murmurs to man
dog yelps to dog
bird chirps to bird
the gray sky is blinding
observing silently
the essence-brilliance
I am overflowing
with the urge to leave
a little legacy


                              (huangdi neijing / yellow emperor's inner canon)

ah!

" you women --
who loved me for that small, hesitating
love for you I always veered from,
because I felt the realm in your faces "

ah! you wrote to me at such a time,

it finally became October, the month

which marks all the important birthdays to come

thank you for this gift

the changing of the season opportune

to ponder what could be, to reminisce 

a time to reflect

on my own thirst for being desired

and that knowledge of being desired is enough

end of summer

if you cast that lure, what'll you get?
i was on the line, of course, a hound
the crushed lime in yr drink
but you'll fail, they always fail, she said

when i stopped at the recently trimmed hedge
i threw myself in it, caressing it all over
having a sudden bad idea, i was so caught
up in all senses, its rough pliability,

yr fragrance, and that of the foliage
seeing a man out of the corner of my eye
where no one should be, and turning
that eye onto ourselves

i realized i had no belonging here
and so having left myself bare
in the cool dark morning that ended summer
i allowed others to find my way home

his story of the blues (L.H.)

O the sun is so hot
and the day is so doggone long
Yes the sun is so hot
and the day is so doggone long
and that's the reason
I'm singin' this doggone song

mortally wounded

mom
what does
mortally
wounded
mean?
it means you
have a
wound you
will die
from