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.

Building Up Summer Afternoon


Summer idle, I can feel it now
The enormous backdrop of expensive
Experience, the shrill stillness
Between suntanned now
And spectacular discovery

I want summer afternoons
That schools me outside
Searching for an anonymous evening
The jazz festival of bruised hearts
Summer idle and tempestuous

With roses of women past their youthful years
Erupting into cheeks and friendly kisses
With strangers, I shall never see again
And sweat that pours from an urgent sun
The views with red jumping borders

And skin, indulgent Augusts and Julies
All those mixed emotions
How the heat can make you weak
Where it counts.

Like Wandering Bards Falling in Love on the Road


I sleep
With the bosom of the moon
Inside my belly
An ache so ethereal
I take back language

From my spirit’s script
I dream
Outside of indifference
With a contempt of sensitivity
So prophetic when I awake

I burst for reveries
Paths diverging until
I want your truths
Like the beauty you hide
In your remnant mind

I wait
To taste your victories
With you like choruses & refrains
And canvasses where our
Hearts melted together

On a page like words
Next to each other, following
Thrust into life
Without punctuation
It was

How you and I met
Sweet nudes of lyrics
The expired caress
Of love-beams
Shown into the

Darkness of our paragraphs
Much like the bed-side goblins
We became
So walled-in
The pink snow of our

Wild Spring of fauns
Piscean gardens
And purity in vocal-speech
I decoded you in strips
Of lingering poetry

And I spoke myself through
Your tongue into
The sorcerer’s longing
Grafted with lightness
Into the bridge of your
Armenian nose

Your secret parodies
I sung through your