There was a blue butterfly
He was attacked by the rain
As when the field turned twilight
Like when you left me
I was advanced, made of wings
The thick vaults of my heart
Fluttered, for summer late
The sky electrocuted
The might of my aim
Little metal blue dust antennae
Girls advanced to crush me
In their palms, I was a blue butterfly
Without a name, only stars
Knew I was here at the window
Whispering your name
It didn’t matter to anyone that
I was broken, I commanded weeds
And webs and freedom until
I lost sight of the reason I had been born
Like a dry silver moth against
The green grass, I was once
A blue butterfly, falling ribbons of silk
Those I would eat, watching you happy
Rain floating through the seasons
I hardly travelled at all in the
Pure style of passing years
With no memory of wings or worship
Only the faint tingling of blue at my sides.

Photography Credits:

I’ve Caught the Scent of Last Year, It Tastes Like Stone

You do not have to love me/
I don’t think you ever did
I was born to follow you
And I was born for you to
Leave me behind, so it is

I wrote all these songs for you
Too sad for you to ever read
You sharpened the man in me
With scolding and rejection
I was born like a new poem
Dressed by the wind
The sky didn’t care your eyes
Were bloodshot, from the life you led
I was caught in the sundrift
Of your belly stepping into a new life

You do not have to love/
I don’t think you ever could
I am still caught in last year
With the taste of mud and stone
For forest said, never mind, I am as old
As your gossiping about a woman
I was born to live after you
To outlive you, for you to haunt me
I wrote all these songs for you
But you never liked poetry.

I Have to Call you My Cruellest Hand of Fate


I touched you once too often
Disappeared into the boundary
That was your face, your thoughts
I called my soul back all night
But it was lost, lost in you
I thought I’d leave this morning
For good, but you kicked me out instead
I touched you once too often
Though silently you pretended to understand
In leaving I realized you hadn’t a clue
So I emptied out your drawer
Of all the life I gave to you
You hardly stooped to pick it up
All the sacrifice I offered you
In listening to your stories of pain
I aged two years after you
In the six months of heart-break
I touched you once too often
When I was with you, and when we were apart
The last time I saw you
You shamed me for good.


While you Have Been Piloting Mickey Mouse Balloons

I’m apt to loaf
About the purer things in life
About how to change the law
Of self, I’m afraid sometimes
I forget, the beauty of youth
Until you look her in the eyes
And stop believing public clocks
And find inner characters
To conform to again
Where I will drop the pamphlets
In my living room
Of all the people I have been
Find sanctuary in the loves that matter
I’m apt to loaf
But I tend to get distracted easily
I abandon plans for the luxury
Of the moment sweeter than anything
A little blood in the sink
Of a life well-lived, won’t kill me
At least I do not think.

You Sealed my Unearned Dreams

I saw you powerful I saw you happy
Without me, on your own
In the sleepy orchards of your maturity
I still imagine myself, with you

Like a silent movie
Wedding processing, my dream
You who illumine the night
Fed by rivers, you make

Invisible steps up the mountain
The world grows fond in your arms
With light and splendour
I saw you powerful I saw you happy

Outside of my possessing
A dance of seven veils
Silence from your left-handed touch
I can’t live in poems knowing

That I still love you, you put an end
To dreaming in me, with your
Aloof and endless perfect weather.


Sounding the Wet Walls of Propaganda


First tell me your secret wish
How your lashes burn on my skin
Your little hands tab my dynamic points
Like circular chiropractic motions

I ask you where you want to go
You tell me with a naked sigh
You want the journey of the flesh
The progress of lust to the twenty-first century

First tell me your secret spot
Where orgasm plays a propaganda
Of feminine charm so covert
You make me smile through my teeth

As I advance upon your instance
And you open up like a cherry religion
Of softness, melted heat and little extravagance
You beg me now, we’ve been here before.


Migrating Silence


A part of me seeks inner government
To break into a lonely country
Broke from love, not impoverished
But neutral, sexless, just fraternal
To pick Lords of Memory of friendship
Instead of love, blot out telling rain and candles
Settle for sunshine, twenty-four-seven!
To languish in conversations
That never end, like how a line
Of in a Chinese Poem can change my mind
Like a sweetly drunk monk, choose
The simple life, a part of me seeks the
Exile’s perfect letter, language of silence
Where equanimity bathes the mist
Along all shores, triumphant &
Forgetting the Self perfectly.

These Heroics of May


The sun is alive in my belly/
My navel of blowing May
The soft gold of my birth-month
I’ve waited for this

Over fields where I turned/
Your bronze name in my head
Over and over, like buds and springs
Of all the loves I have ever witnessed

The high stars maintain/
The dripping hope of last-songs
Today’s melody, well it’s for Spring
I am fixed in her like a Galaxy

The secret of her fragile skies is this –
That I’ve had a shinning head
For outrageous dreams
As the smallest movements in my mouth

May is for heroic kissing/
For lovers who burn with lucid plundering
To build new lives
Where we have once been cheated
To replace that with fertility.

Ballad of Last Light


The sun is tangled
In my prayers for sunset
It doesn’t matter than
I’m at the goldenth hour of my life
I’ve been changed to a bird

So many times, it’s difficult
To count, was I a Phoenix?
Or was I a Dragon?
I fell in Love with Asian
A long time ago, lifetimes ago

Terrified by the clash
Of wind and grass
I became an ethereal thing
I commit daily suicide
As a human being

And walk as a spiritual creature
In literature, the sun is tangled
In my silver hair
Between sky and water
I’ll leave my songs

Pet the Serpent of knowledge
In darkness, I’ll set myself a home
Pulling a flower out of moss
I’m a hung man’s last shivering
The sun is tangled at my feet
In my invocation for dawn.

I’m Telling this to the Two of You


In my love-soaked bed
I thought I drank love and died from it
Though I have been alone
For how many months now?
How many years have I suffered
My relationship with myself
I caught and wrestled in this bed
The dreams that I once sought
I scatter now to the winds
Accepting, for instance, how much
More clever my corpse might be
The legacy of dead songs, you see
Angels will not come to kiss my head
In my love-soaked bed, I live and died
A fantasy, created by stages of delusion
I invented illusions that you existed
So that I might simulate love
That my fragmented heart, might survive
And linger a while in my mind
To obey, some entertainment of beauty
For a lonely life, of dead songs.

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.

The Last Jury is How we Linked


Nothing has been broken –
Nothing could ever have been broken
You were the air and I was the breeze
There was love in every shadow
It was all familiar, each corner of
Fleeting minutes, every look
It already happened, we already occurred
Before we met, on that gentle day
You made my day as a blue butterfly
Landing on eyelashes of forgetfulness
Nothing has been done, it already happened
Thrust like dragonflies from futurity
Simultaneously vivid, quantum deja-vu
I heard it in your French, you counseled
Our marriage, before we got married
You taught children, before ours were even born
Nothing has been broken – nothing is lost
Though time would electrocute our heart
That’s life at the window of movement
You were the flowers, to my sun.

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.



Make my body, your personal
Pomegranate fragrances, stamp me with
Kisses of meaning, leave no scent
But your inscriptions of spice, Romance
As spoiled as lyrical Sundays, vineyards
Of affection, where we revel in each other
Keep my mouth, cinnamon & pineapple
Close to your nipple, close to your sweet voice
Where I can hear and taste your
Excavations of Beloved tyranny, Syrup joys
That glance down the crying Theatres of Bliss
That is ours like, hours stamped with our Genius
In the happy Journal of our fractal predictions
We friend-touch each other violating aches and years
Of loneliness, where nothing was whispered from the garden
Of Legendary mortality, dream-state aqua-drums of the dance
Make my body, your weight of maddest hopes
Embraces of permanence, leave no mood unturned
No pollen of the Brain left filtered, but brine me Thy
One True Self, that I might adore your singularities
As if they were a part of my own native Revelations
Our souls will join upon these fallen Leaves
And I shall kneel with a handkerchief to clean the dirt
From the dirty Sun of our loveless travels, breathless with age.

Ballad to Half-crazed Summer


I am looking for Summer Nights
Where the moon will dangle these
Half-plucked eyes, with hearts thrown open!
As if, bright friends might transport
The rapture back into these Wounded Skies
I can’t ask for much, or maybe Everything
The eternal attitude of little human music
These yearnings which elevate time to Perfect Pitch
I am hunting Spring mornings for
The tried and true naked stones, that glimmer
The Sun’s best Intrusion of happiness
Where light is a bull-frog’s croak of oblivious motivation
Our bright flesh where there are no scars
I am looking for Mortal Embraces of hot July
Where I can let my expertise in simplicity go
Like a poem where words are said so beautifully
that I might as well be speaking the name of Love
That give themselves to life so intimately, we might
Silence the blossoms on all lips, to climb stairs
Outside Plato’s cave to the throat of outside innocence
I am looking for Salvation, on the fly.

Good Night to the Ideal of Marriage


I took a blessing for the flowers
Tightening around me in the night
Like precious fertile years
Lost, to my individuality
Jealous with knots of
Passionate self-interest

Like dust under
An unused wedding gown
Then I followed the day
That turned into lonely decades
The terror of being unable to build building-blocks
Of love, of family, of normalcy

I heard stories that turned into theory
At weddings, of people who never made it
Girls sailing over the blooms of my mouth
I was getting old for watching them
With a hungry face, or a heavy heart
In the end I had disdain for the fragments

Of small affections I accumulated
The cynicism spilled while watching friends
Busy in their nesting frenzies
I took a blessing for the flowers
As you harvested the beauty of your worth
Light and splendor, like sleeping orchids

Woke up in you, when you became a mother
But I wasn’t to be your husband
Nor would I be invited to the holy procession
Of your vault of the power of the bonds that do not die

Long live the unknown machine
Of heart, that I was unable to grow
Into finely meshed lives of stable prosperity.

Abandoning the Sea


My last poem broke through
Harbors, like lost ships, journeys
Ready for the scrap yard
Junk sales, that’s where I found my love
The rusted submarines of

So much idealistic passion
Like spilled cargo, that never
Reached its final destination, listless
After years of searching the wrong
Seas, continents too prosperous

Broken contracts, memory white
With the regret and guilt of loss
The kind of romantic sailors that assure you –
The Sea can make you go crazy
Ready to rejoin the world, without skills

My last poem is ready to sell-out
And be a different kind of martyr
I try not to count the ships, as dreams
Or the people I lost along the way
But that way of life ruined all prospects

Art, were the ruthless waves
Where I sacrificed and risked everything
And lost, my last poem was an admission
Of the darling pupils of my muse
That I will never see again, least of all in verse.

Songs of Love’s Insanity


I told you we were fools
With our strut of scarlet feet
I wept – for foolish games
We put each other through

Now, a spring negotiation is On
The traitor birds are whispering
A splintering of my time
To rebel against the sun

My heart is no longer glass and gold
But a petrified blossom of your scars
I told you we were fools
We lost the optimism of youth

The confidence of bravery
That risks without asking questions
I tried to love you carefully
But my insane letters and embroidered throat

Were initials of my own doom
I told you I was a fool
I do not gladly wait the years
To see you again, you made it poignantly clear
All my hope and artistry meant nothing.