Thanks to the musicians who played at the Sorry, Mom Productions party tonight and whose words, in parts of this piece, I've borrowed -- credit goes to Flower and Man Up, Yancey.
---- ---
Every word speaks to your skin.
Every. word. I, utter
is guaranteed. To miss
something.
hindsight beats 20/20
and i fucked up
as i often do
i was born with all the angst of the 90s
and if i were born a decade earlier
my suffering might have meant
something.
i. stopped. hating (myself)
so i can stay
a little longer
...vinyl tomorrow
he's from the east side
she's from the west, when they
press reset
they know they'll
never get rest
thought i saw a rainbow
just the oily remains a car
already passed by their fingers strumming
like hooks stretching at strings
unseen i'll educate you
in police brutality
And the selfishness
of the life you
didn't use
And i decide the rain
which leads me on my way
we're so focused on who we're becoming
we never discover who we are today.
--- ---
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Friday, November 13, 2015
dig me shallow
---
mourn me with shallow roses
do not dig so deep
that the memory of me cannot be heard
above the Boston gusts
that rush through skyscrapers and ancient
courthouses with speeches
inscribed like the poetry I tried to tell you
would keep you
when I was gone. bury me
not so far to
forget the wind chimes of a thousand perfect
vowels and
adjectives erased for the perfect word
to describe my happiness
the first time you moved me into sadness
so much it hurt
so deep it cut to reveal my heart
no longer encumbered
by the broken seal it once had felt
---
mourn me with shallow roses
do not dig so deep
that the memory of me cannot be heard
above the Boston gusts
that rush through skyscrapers and ancient
courthouses with speeches
inscribed like the poetry I tried to tell you
would keep you
when I was gone. bury me
not so far to
forget the wind chimes of a thousand perfect
vowels and
adjectives erased for the perfect word
to describe my happiness
the first time you moved me into sadness
so much it hurt
so deep it cut to reveal my heart
no longer encumbered
by the broken seal it once had felt
---
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Etch and Sketch
----
In writing, build the scaffolding
but once it leads you where to go
tear it down.
There is nothing but autobiography
what stories do we tell but our own?
he was a Megabus lifer, she could tell;
he wore baggy pants
that could be stripped off easily
if it got too hot
and pulled on quickly if it
ever cooled
he had a subway six-inch
that once was
a footlong; Mountain Dew and
fogged glasses
and one of those way-too-expensive
pillows attached
like melted skin to his neck
the tattoo
of the well-traveled.
she didn't think too much of him
who thinks on a bus
of anyone other than them?
but then his was
the only empty seat left and
he moved, apologetically, but spoke:
"Yeah, I still don't know how
to show people who I really am?"
she stammered -- what an odd thing
to say to a complete stranger -- but ahh
when she looked closer
she saw the white Apple earphones
crisis averted, and he
noticed her, and he
mouthed an
apology.
outside
a car sped past them
its lights blaring doom
to the Honda
ahead of
them
eventually, she
got the story out of him:
he was once in love
and though that was long gone
he still rode buses
to remind himself
their relationship
was an etch and sketch
of overnight bus routes
creating and erasing
the distance between them
in sleepless East Coast strokes.
In writing, build the scaffolding
but once it leads you where to go
tear it down.
There is nothing but autobiography
what stories do we tell but our own?
he was a Megabus lifer, she could tell;
he wore baggy pants
that could be stripped off easily
if it got too hot
and pulled on quickly if it
ever cooled
he had a subway six-inch
that once was
a footlong; Mountain Dew and
fogged glasses
and one of those way-too-expensive
pillows attached
like melted skin to his neck
the tattoo
of the well-traveled.
she didn't think too much of him
who thinks on a bus
of anyone other than them?
but then his was
the only empty seat left and
he moved, apologetically, but spoke:
"Yeah, I still don't know how
to show people who I really am?"
she stammered -- what an odd thing
to say to a complete stranger -- but ahh
when she looked closer
she saw the white Apple earphones
crisis averted, and he
noticed her, and he
mouthed an
apology.
outside
a car sped past them
its lights blaring doom
to the Honda
ahead of
them
eventually, she
got the story out of him:
he was once in love
and though that was long gone
he still rode buses
to remind himself
their relationship
was an etch and sketch
of overnight bus routes
creating and erasing
the distance between them
in sleepless East Coast strokes.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Lincoln in 2015
--
i see Washington's pointed spear
in reflection at your knees
as goes the victor's history
your memory enshrined forever
in mute caskets of nearby cemetery
your rightward foot carved in marble
your knuckled fist clenched in power
your tight pursed mouth
your eyes so solemn
four score and seventeen years ago
this whole world lit up in fire
do you weep as they
erect statues to your sword
but not your silver tongue?
--
Saturday, October 24, 2015
This Is Your Poet Speaking
---
And there's the city
And here the people
Dancing on your fingernail
For a breath you're above it
And suddenly landed, you
Return to dust
As surely as you ever were
Falling you rose up
---
And there's the city
And here the people
Dancing on your fingernail
For a breath you're above it
And suddenly landed, you
Return to dust
As surely as you ever were
Falling you rose up
---
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Organ Donor
i am all faults and tissue
one more than the other
remember that
when you come to excavate
all the good that is left in me
one more than the other
remember that
when you come to excavate
all the good that is left in me
Monday, October 12, 2015
#snapchat
this fog that lingers on the lake
perfectly still, forming salt
pillars gazing back at the sky
remembering what they left behind
don't mind if I take this snapchat
and paint copies of you
there are no originals
except this, these
will have to do
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
The Dream We All Dream But Can't Admit
---
i laid in bed
and closed my eyes
and dreamed of sleep
the sweetest dream
one can have
while wide awake
---
i laid in bed
and closed my eyes
and dreamed of sleep
the sweetest dream
one can have
while wide awake
---
Friday, September 25, 2015
New Glasses
---
i looked up
it was 6 pm
And i saw the moon
rising again
And smiled
Because this time
i could see
everything
each crevasse
and imperfection
It was the first time
i saw the moon
for what it was
(beautiful)
--
i looked up
it was 6 pm
And i saw the moon
rising again
And smiled
Because this time
i could see
everything
each crevasse
and imperfection
It was the first time
i saw the moon
for what it was
(beautiful)
--
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Photokeratitis
And if you squinted you could see
A couple walking distantly
Like figments of a fog
Their haloes wrapped concurrently
Beneath a bearded, wizened tree
They spoke of love so mystically
The breeze it settled instantly
As if in raptured pause
Throughout their moonwalk melodies
The sun did shine so splendidly
Oh dream oh heart oh ecstasy
The world passed by so quietly
Hear birds allowing you to me
Oh God it hurts so much to be
The sacrosancht melancholy
Of being half a whole
And while they spoke the scenery
Did curl up in a winter freeze
And shriveled up its ancient leaves
Then headed to the coast
And if you squint today you'll see
The sun-blind spot of memory
A couple walking distantly
Like figments of what was
They faded just because
A couple walking distantly
Like figments of a fog
Their haloes wrapped concurrently
Beneath a bearded, wizened tree
They spoke of love so mystically
The breeze it settled instantly
As if in raptured pause
Throughout their moonwalk melodies
The sun did shine so splendidly
Oh dream oh heart oh ecstasy
The world passed by so quietly
Hear birds allowing you to me
Oh God it hurts so much to be
The sacrosancht melancholy
Of being half a whole
And while they spoke the scenery
Did curl up in a winter freeze
And shriveled up its ancient leaves
Then headed to the coast
And if you squint today you'll see
The sun-blind spot of memory
A couple walking distantly
Like figments of what was
They faded just because
Friday, September 18, 2015
One of Those Nights
i had one of those nights
you know those nights
just thought one glass of wine
nights, only meant another
nightcap nights but
i’ve been out here two months
and haven’t been out
and they’re gathering
in the kitchen
roommates
i haven’t met yet but
they invite me along for
one of those nights
which is how I ended up
discussing morality
with the Canadian kid
origins are a funny thing
from Alberta, but really from
Pakistan, at least, his
parents (have you been,
awful place, Pakistan is,
he says) and I agree
that we are not
where we are
from. Would you
blow up the bridge
or the baby?
from. Would you
blow up the bridge
or the baby?
so it was
that type of night
one of these nights
i’ll wake up
refreshed and alone
you’ll have
wrapped my skin
in a mannequin
and left me
to admire
the moonlight again.
----
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Another Night in September
My untied shoe
The broken pipe
My half-smoked cigar
The gushing water
My unfinished article
The trickling street
My faint shadow
The beauty of it all
I walked away
and returned
it was gone
The broken pipe
My half-smoked cigar
The gushing water
My unfinished article
The trickling street
My faint shadow
The beauty of it all
I walked away
and returned
it was gone
Monday, September 7, 2015
Exposure
she was good because she felt
i felt bad because i didn't
we remember such things
when leaves change and
we notice the cracks in
sidewalks again, when
we look down more
(look up)
the sun is a cursor
it leads to the Potomac
where she floats
naked and burnt
i’m trembling to touch
and i reach out
and the water is wine
and then blood
we remember such things
i, remember, this thing
still, she floats
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Reading
hold me
at the corner
of a page
in that moment
before turning
pause
just a second
and wonder
what happens
when you leave
one
for another
and you forget
the words
to move on
pause
before you do
and wonder
if you are
ready
to make
this page past
pause
just a second
before turning
that moment
of changing
from present
to past
to future
pause
(and turn)
---
Sunday, August 30, 2015
The Point of it All (or Sexy, Sexy San Francisco)
The Point of it All (or Sexy, Sexy San Francisco)
so maybe the point isn’t
in bays of San Francisco sex
wrapped around the great
Treasure Island of Human Waste
where you can see the lights
of bridges leading always to the other
city across another bay
Oakland’s magnanimous display
west black east brown middle white
the most fucked-up Oreo in sight
but at least it’s diversity
(when women say they’re diverse
my Chinese-Filipino friend says
they should not want to “die-first”)
but that’s beside the point
that isn’t in bays of San Francisco sex
that I imagine tastes something like
sweet, sticky, buttery
chocolate strawberries
dripping syrup down my
all-you-can eat pancakes
that spell San Francisco sex
as religious as Sunday brunch
----
Monday, July 13, 2015
Consciousness
---
sitting in a Sydney ashram
chanting soar-throated psalms;
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
his holiness Ghanashyam asks us
to call him shyam for short;
Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare
the soul leaves, the body replaced
by another by the scent of your soul
Hare Rama
Hare Rama
like rose petals to roses
like shit to glorious shit
Rama Rama
Hare Hare
repeat these sacred words
a hundred-and-eight times
still don't know what they mean
that's okay because divinity
doesn't need me to be divine
it just is
all things surrounding
that is
all things and me
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
animals without karma
men with karma
until they fuck it lost
and become animals
until they do
their time
and are reborn as men
to fuck it again
Krishna Krishna
(Sorry Sorry)
I'm not being present
(presence the divine)
(presence the sanctuary)
I'm thinking of my rosary
and how I fucked it lost
and Lesian
the sahri-eyed individual
fed on raw carrots and almond milk
bred patricide from swollen womb
lactose intolerant to the gluten-free
mother goddess to the veganities
like Joel Osteen on Sunday morning
even Australia can't escape
the great American dream
---
sitting in a Sydney ashram
chanting soar-throated psalms;
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
his holiness Ghanashyam asks us
to call him shyam for short;
Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare
the soul leaves, the body replaced
by another by the scent of your soul
Hare Rama
Hare Rama
like rose petals to roses
like shit to glorious shit
Rama Rama
Hare Hare
repeat these sacred words
a hundred-and-eight times
still don't know what they mean
that's okay because divinity
doesn't need me to be divine
it just is
all things surrounding
that is
all things and me
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
animals without karma
men with karma
until they fuck it lost
and become animals
until they do
their time
and are reborn as men
to fuck it again
Krishna Krishna
(Sorry Sorry)
I'm not being present
(presence the divine)
(presence the sanctuary)
I'm thinking of my rosary
and how I fucked it lost
and Lesian
the sahri-eyed individual
fed on raw carrots and almond milk
bred patricide from swollen womb
lactose intolerant to the gluten-free
mother goddess to the veganities
like Joel Osteen on Sunday morning
even Australia can't escape
the great American dream
---
Friday, July 10, 2015
Tanning
Tanning
she used to wear bracelets
so many they eclipsed her thin wrist
and pinched my skin at night
as I kissed to kill
time so delicate it bruised purple
under the moonlit window with
the dead roses; I forgot
to throw them out
and now it's too late
because it's been two years
she doesn't wear bracelets anymore
she took off the waterproof watch
so I can't ask her the time
she was tired of the marks they left
when the sun painted her skin
but stripped her wrists pale
she used to wear bracelets
so many they eclipsed her thin wrist
and pinched my skin at night
as I kissed to kill
time so delicate it bruised purple
under the moonlit window with
the dead roses; I forgot
to throw them out
and now it's too late
because it's been two years
she doesn't wear bracelets anymore
she took off the waterproof watch
so I can't ask her the time
she was tired of the marks they left
when the sun painted her skin
but stripped her wrists pale
Acclimating
Acclimating
the first rule of diving: breathe
slowly in, slowly out
or you'll rise
and expand
and eventually
POP! like a balloon
soaring
too high
too fast
i feel i've forgotten (how) to breathe
it's not so easy to forget
i feel i did
your stones in my pocket
don't skip more than twice
and i'm surfacing
heavy and high
passing my bubbles
(a bad sign)
i awake above the waves
my ear drums blasted
in salt, and
teary-eyed
fumble
into the coral shore
not noticing
my bleeding soles
the first rule of diving: breathe
slowly in, slowly out
or you'll rise
and expand
and eventually
POP! like a balloon
soaring
too high
too fast
i feel i've forgotten (how) to breathe
it's not so easy to forget
i feel i did
your stones in my pocket
don't skip more than twice
and i'm surfacing
heavy and high
passing my bubbles
(a bad sign)
i awake above the waves
my ear drums blasted
in salt, and
teary-eyed
fumble
into the coral shore
not noticing
my bleeding soles
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Boarding Pass
Boarding Pass
What is this feeling?
As if loving you
set my heart into a turbine pit
All gasping, burning, fiery,
You are the runway set on a seaborne cliff -
forgive me if I close my eyes
from time to time
to feel the thrust
of my soul in my chest
And my fingers clutching firmament
that's never really there
What is this feeling?
As if loving you
set my heart into a turbine pit
All gasping, burning, fiery,
You are the runway set on a seaborne cliff -
forgive me if I close my eyes
from time to time
to feel the thrust
of my soul in my chest
And my fingers clutching firmament
that's never really there
Awakening
Awakening
I woke as if someone had punched me
rubbed my hand against my raw cheek
swollen and numb as a dream
that I had chewed my insides out
with each sleepy grin
and spat out the meaty parts
of me that felt wrong, out of
suit, cardboard and thick
with saliva and regret
leaving craters,
they think it might be wisdom
teeth finally pushing apart,
as if to say, “enough, is
enough,” you
are twenty-three
it is time we
came out.
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