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The sign reads out to lunch, but there’s an x on lunch,
dinner on top of the word, but there’s a x on top of that,
breakkk… trails down and off,
finally, on whatever space it can steal and cozy up,
it reads: “Be back when I’m back.”

The concave tint of the taxi window doubles neon city lights
in 35 degree angles with a point of intersection somewhere in space
following the side door parallelly with an arc cosine equation
Intersections aren’t always clear, static, or rhythmically predictable,
mine keeps moving forward like the roll of a black and white film,
goofy little kiss made with mathematical intentions.

Logos was duct taped and thrown in the back trunk,
so nothing speaks–there’s no point to speech
Following hundreds of details in the duplex horizon with eyes wide open
where pictures are hieroglyphs slurped into interpretation:
I had forgotten what it was like to be an immigrant.

Predictability is easily translated:
where are you from and how long you been here?
Four months…four months and a world has changed
I know that I haven’t written but in my mind
the richness of the scene feels like my play:
i’m a writer, writing the script of my life,
while all the characters dance in their own free will
like the kiss’ complicated foundation following swiftly right beside me

Tonight the scene is New Years,
the phone is off, the email is shut, I’m where I’ve always been
and never realized how much I enjoyed it
When they ask my grandma where am at and what I’m doing,
She says, “It’s Claudia, she’s doing what she’s always done best:
working and studying…(stops)
you are planning to settle down sometime in the future, right?” (chuckles)

Every dating profile has been shut off
And today God sounds like the air paragliding down,
The skeletal of my year is planned,
The goals are posted and hashed,
Midnight is a three mile run and train, prayer and writing,
Time for really great beginnings.