Subdued in the Wheat of your Belonging

Before I loved you, Love
Nothing was my own, I had nothing
Now I tunnel the moon in everything
The whole world is mine
I am in love with everyone
As if I forgot the case
Of the majesty of each soul

Before I loved you, Love
Things were not as they seemed
Now I walk the streets with your unity
And I am a better man, my mind
Stretches across the illusion of separation
I am a bit of everyone I contact
They see it in me, I want the warehouse

Of illimitable joys, that speaks
The richness of the human spirit
Those four word idioms that show
My splendour of understanding
Before I loved you, Love
I wasn’t myself, you have returned
Me back to you, and as such

I will always love what love always was
Since before all silence, I came from you
And after all landscapes of Earth
I will still yearn to imitate you.

Atom in a World Government

Because the glowing morning
Flung my authority to the skies
I watch atoms become skyscrapers
One planetary city, this evolving
World government, organism

An aquarium where we merge
With technology, we are enchanted dancers
Fully monitored, in a frenzy of change
The modern soul does not love

It encapsulates, it downloads
A synthetic use of each person
Into its life, morals are now for puritans
Everything is the art to please

The new intelligence is corporate adaptation
Because the glowing morning
Bred my own desires for me
I became an automaton in a system

Programmed by invisible software
New-born with each generation of
Designer labels, consumeristic dogma
New levels of insidious social control.

Conspiracy Link: http://www.godlikeproductions.com/

Fully Awake and Dangerous

Wake me up from the depths/
Of slumber, bright-eyed from
A dangerous Dream, it wasn’t real?

I want to be fully awake baby/
To ascend with holy certainty
And chase after timeless optimism

In waking, eating, working, dreaming/
Wake me up from my depths
Of slumber, let me escape

The necessity of being limited/
A dangerous Dream, was it real?
I want to be fully awake dear

Tread my memories roughly/
I have been poor, so poor
Without knowing you, I have

Become rich, so rich, with but/
A drop of you, wake me up
Gently, sweetly, shake me
I don’t know how much longer
I can take it, stand it, kick it.

On Your Strange Insistent Rhythmic Pride

You should be proud/
Of your nomadic optimism
Like an argument that runs
Through my lungs

I who wish you would stay/
With me, my little overflowed veins
Glad enough to be in your service
You should be proud
You are able to silence

The heart of your attachment/
Bolder, you’ve silenced them
Haven’t you? My thousand heart-beats

That didn’t know how to bloom/
I watch you, like a red flower
At the train station, where I gasped
At how you flee, another country

Another city, another poem/
You should be proud
That you are a foreigner, that you belong
Everywhere, anywhere, a bright gold flower
Like an Asian in New York City

You know how to run, and/
You have filled me with poems to the brink
You should be proud, you know how
To slip under the gates and stuff

Your pockets with that last cigarette/
The last time I Saw you, you helped
Me escape, in leather and jeans
From Latin names, and psychoactive mushrooms
You should be proud, though I can’t secure

The rumor of your subtle flattery/
My poetic neck is marked
With tattoos of your courage

Strung up on tightropes, you possess/
Qualities of translation, I couldn’t dream to have
There is no equal opportunity between us
We are just different, strangers
Lost in the crowds, the tango and language
Of all that I loved, yet could never possess.

& Was Her Body Ever Present?

Let me transpose you, mysterious essence/
With the syntax of future alleys
Passageways of whatever’s left
I’ve listened for the soul’s touch
In the myriad common-things

Out of reach, I’ve been hoping/
Filling iron with roses, alchemic-thirst
Let me revel in you, like a tiger-with-magnetic-tongue
I’ve set sapphires in your memories
Climbing the walls of your beauty

To get over it, to reach your spirit/
It hasn’t been easy to traverse
The jungle-course of your femininity
Sifting the streets of your pituitary cares
I’ve been watchful, for where you lie to yourself

Covering up, enclosing yourself in aloof-context/
To gain, a private eden, bundled up in your winter scarf
I can barley find photographs of you in perfect trust
Let me translate you, a movement in retroactive design
From Singapore to New York City, in French

Where I’d inhabit the content of Pigeon Park/
Out in the sun, where we are only
Parts of each other’s dream, stranded, beloved
In happenstance, aware of the dance
Sharing the moon, briefly, under maddening stars.

Gateway of an Author

In the kingdom of poets, you are my
Pronoun intertwined, my lover of words
I read you like a lover touches you
.
.
I learn to be in your suppositions
Striving to yield in your lyricism
And break free in your hypothesis
In the realm of expression, you are my
Premonition of the dream of years
.
.
Arriving forever at distant wonder
Alphabets of yearning, unmistakable fountains
I attempt to enter your gateway of being
With the optimism of your humanitarianism
I read you like a lover touches you
First tenderly and then fiercely, over and over
Again, you are the singing in my brain
The lavish ceremony of my soul’s literature
.
.
I grasp at meanings in-between your sentences
And analyze you because you told me
That I could know you through your poems.

Lost in Celebration

Lost in the fields of your hair
I remembered the fragrance there, of the Earth
And Peach blossoms of the souls
That I left behind, so lovingly
That I forbid myself to love again –
In the dark, of beautiful and corrupt humanity
There were no bruises like the empty space
Of living alone, for penniless years
I became a master of loving without objects
Of instructing myself how I might survive
On beauty alone, without a face
To reflect it back to me, I was
.
)
The last horizon of wonder
Guilty for not traveling, like you have –
I lost myself in the fields of your hair
Counting the contracts, countries, poems
You encountered, here at the soft lines
Of your cheeks, I looked in awe beyond beauty
For the sound of your voice, the locket of hair
Where I might find the secret to comb everything
That jar of oil, that caress of celebration
That could possibly make me groan at the roots
Look down from the skyline of the cityscape
At how lovely the world could truly be.

A Beat Poem as a Marvelous Omen

I’m apt to loaf for news about you
I heard you did Salsa from Singapore
Played the saxophone as a decoy
While translating and interpreting market values
Us poets work bankers’ hours

You know it, with your silk grin of patience, your
Vocabulary that can’t be cataloged
Your words strike me as a saber of the future
Street-smart, like laughter right after supper
Champagne that sparkles, in the world’s most bustling city

I’m apt to not know what to say, once I find you
With your spoken french so far superior to mine
Wearing a dress tailor made for how
We failed at secular life, it wasn’t surprising
That I’m running out of ways to distract myself from
The inevitable dilemma that I can’t stop writing

About my lack of mentors, lovers, heirlooms, legacies, girlfriends
Nothing can compare to the exposure of my dying lips
Of the trinkets of your humanitarian sustenance

I caught myself worshiping today
At the thought of discovering you, losing you, crying
Triumph in-between your surrealism and the non-locality
Of how we know of each other at all
Like a rumor of lost identity hushed in semantics.

You Loved me into Reality

You dance on the day you saved
Me from myself, like a middle-class riot
Of listening for butterflies, in forgotten fields
.
*
I am the lost sweet singer of boyhood
Me and myself, with theoretical angels all around
Hoping for the voice, of connection:
>
.
Rainbows on vacation, time in love’s stand-still
You drink on the day you saved
Me from the world, I was at a cemetery at sunset
.
)
Of my grief, an artificial virtual subjective world
There was no substance to me, sleeping in beds of water
Memories of dissonance, a floating post traumatic stress syndrome
.
*
Of what the big world didn’t find out about me
You laughed on the day you saved
Me from my arrogance, egocentricity, stubbornness
>
.
It sounded like an echo in Chinese to my immature hearing
Like a parasite of heaven, it was my job to know human states
Suffering wore out the overused mirror of unsilvered masterpiece-eyes
.
)
You dream in nude keyholes on the day you saved
Me from my illusions, in erotic awakening I felt
The touch of transformation gentle on my breast
.
*
The butterflies came to get me after all, I confess
In your lips I felt the puissance of the bluest stars
You forged me a passport to eternity, drunk in new language.