Bed
May 4th, 2008
We lie miles apart
seconds in touch
I think about you
I wonder if we could be making love to Tom Waits
maybe I just listen to Waits too much
silence
Damn, my miserable want
or the Achilles of my lips
so warm with the hot breath of our embrace…
but not really.
in Naha, I’ll sleep in the palace of the shogun
with night and gale floors
and secret anti-assassination whispers
loud knowledge of clear intentions,
honesty of affection
I like my eyes,
dark, quiet, small and sad
porcelain white plate cool surface
to my baby octopi heart
blind temerity,
into blue fires I go
mastery is painful.
“The one who loves the least is master.” –W. H. Auden add to del.icio.us
Inventory: Snow
February 24th, 2008
postmodernist in logic and profession,
minimalist in possessions and introductions,
logos gatherer,
theorist in physical disorganization,
intrepid and fiercely competitive female
decompressing slowly in snowy mountains,
for the first time in my life.
And I keep looking for THE ONE, you know?
the ONE:
meaning, major goal, productive obsession,
definition of identity, purpose of creation, soul mate,
God meant to individualize for each of us
like electricity to Franklin, but that was just a happy byproduct,
and the writer spent hours writing on the one.
Valentine’s Day:
my romantic bohemian heart wonders
on the beautiful paradox of humanity
giving/taking hearts to keep cosseted
with the smell of expensive aftershave
a fast heartbeat and a hug,
Memories I keep in case next Valentine is snowy, cold and bleak
It’s 2 o’clock in the morn…
February 21st, 2008
Listening to Tom Waits
on a lunar eclipse romantic somnambular night…
and I’m feeling bluesy,
Thinking of the one that I’ve loved best…
GOD, just how did I let my mind so easily pour from the right ear out the door??
but everything is gonna be just fine.
The night is getting colder;
My journal is full of prose and poems from
daily wanderings and philosophical conversations
with Bangkok’s hookers and “managers”–
beaten sutured faces,
on the arms of foreign accents,
luminescent skin with candy apple red lips (boy)
done to poster perfection of cosmetic surgery,
the bright neon lights down the Sukhumvit stretch,
and elephant blood on my hands
while crossing the street…chasing a sugar cane treats.
Things I don’t like to think about
making company with memories at two:
he was my needed sublime stupidity
like white needs black to define,
and silence needs noise to vacation,
So, I’m owning the words used to hurt me
Turning down people and promises that don’t coincide with mine,
MY world to define
If I had a daughter, I don’t know if,
I could tell her all the sad things,
I’d say, “2 in the morn blues, don’t go past 6,
Don’t get elephant blood chasing cheap sweets
don’t let lonely spells go without philosophizing,
and everything is gonna be alright.”
“The moon ain’t romantic, actually it’s intimidating as hell.” –Tom Waits add to del.icio.us
Portraits: When Mickey Mouse Went Plum Crazy Broken Hearted
January 20th, 2008
Words are poignant :
MLK’s poem the day of his death–
life is often a negotiation of the little interruptions,
the meeting you get derailed from
the marriage that fails,
the door that slams shut,
and leaves the poem unveiled…
Packing the present
Yellow Seas are simple comforts
Remembering lessons, minus wounds
Fruitless investments, minus bitter words
Foul foods, minus gag reaction
It’s often the smaller things that hurt the worse
Rules of Engagement:
Never stay long or grow roots,
Too painful to stoop and pull,
She’s been a long time gone,
Returning to place she hated calling home,
Quiet and alone again.
——*——
Yes, Mickey couldn’t take Minnie leaving; it’s not an urban legend. This version is the first I had seen featured on the CNN series.
Memory of a Kiss
November 13th, 2007
Parted lips kiss the soft pillow
remind me of the gardenias
that bloomed thrice the month I left
How many times will I speak, write, or wonder of love?
The kind that hurts, heals, or accompanies?
The silent one inside my book
Or the loud one that once filled my pages?
The one I wanted to call daughter,
or the one that loves me as their daughter?
The one I can’t see but keeps me in their prayers
or the one that hugs me every morning,
because the only word she remembers is teacher?
The one that doesn’t speak but guards me vigilantly
or the one that couldn’t start a song without me one Christmas afternoon?
The friend that never fails to say hello
or the one whose rosary I keep close to my heart?
How many times?
Infinite, if God lets me.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
–1 Corinthians 13:13 add to del.icio.us
Plank
November 1st, 2007
Today is just one of them days
when the boss has a bee in the bonnet,
And all the decapitated fish being fried
have a salutation in 241 tongues of fishy clemencies
searching the penitence of my nose…
At least the residents of the mental hospital
across the street smile with the tiles
and the trees and anything laying on the mural sea
or the sebaceous underground from the landfill
where they done built
Strange follows me or is it…
I set the mood with my linguistic mind?
Today’s mental list:
The black belt, the turn, the drop, the take
The breath, the run, the weight,
The how much of this can I take?
the school, the grade,
the time don’t waste, don’t hesitate,
the cam, the comp, the internet
the job, the money, the pay,
the heavy hobby mountain
climb
exploration
exultation,
conquest is so divine…
There are so many things to do
Anything and everything all at once…
And I wonder why
I can’t take a decent photo of myself
but I love the pic on my student’s phone?
Why is it so hard to hide
this jelly heart of mine?
Unsatisfied with concrete things
I feel like I’m walking the tight plank
To a place I know that always hurts
It’s so difficult to want to trust another.
The pirates wait in line…
It’s just one of them days.
