In the Haiku between you and I

In the Haiku between you and I

In the Haiku between you and I
You and me, there is only silence
For I followed you blindly
Without words, like a fool’s errand

And our experiences were finite
But as poets we were prophets
Taking the ordinary
To make it all-beautiful

Immersed in the variables
Of relationships, I became
My own kind of poetic analytics
Poetry defined as immediate
Identification, and you were there

A myth in my eyes of incarnations
A lost journey of mine without a home
I followed you through time like a nomad
Of a poem our lives once wrote together

So pure and profound a calling
A writer-seer’s blind spot of pleasure
Ethereal, unattainable, self-sacrificial
That’s how the poetry between us sounded

Transparent, with a red dress of infatuation
Still warm, the muse of powerful
Barefoot cravings and blue-stretched out
Mythical bed of alphabetical nipple-tested
Vowel-slurring sweet anarchy.

Clearly the Biggest EJ Koh Fan-page Ever

Black Swan Job Application V

There’s something ritualistic
About eucalyptus candles
About applying heat, mint and flickering
To a writer’s body

First drafts, personal ink, editing
Our bodies know
There are absolutely no
Physical benefits to writing

But the psychic benefit is intense
The spiritual benefits are neurologically
Verified by functional MRIs
But, nothing changes a brain like

Becoming a poet, it’s a Chosun Dynasty
It means to have a heart that is free
Of attachments; poets belong
To their own social class

I’m an astrologer too, so in ancient courts
I’d be called poet-astrologer, now
That’s a vocation, or a joke
Since modern times spurns writers

There’s little doubt my spine is bent
My pelvis is sagging from so much sitting
I don’t have tricks for health
I only have the destiny of words

And a music in my cells
Stress relief comes from transparency
Realization comes from simplicity
Honour comes from prodigal creativity

But without reputation or profit
I just want to have some fun with it.