No Word About Love

The clock is chiming in our wombs
Ready for a new world to be born
Time never outlasts our heroism
If only we realized the end could be near

It’s austere to love this world and her music
Too much, I think sometimes I do
Farewell to another lonely year
How had you loved? Who cares what you did!

Time is running with new longings
I feel them in you, in kind
Distance from afar, spooky action noted
Love’s feature-bliss has no casual witnesses

It’s something white hot inside of us
It’s the need to create more than
Software, more than poems
More than playing in the dark

The clock is running out of hands
And my intent is running out of eyes
I don’t have the eyes in this world
To see all the beauty, and participate

Sometimes in a revolution, when the
Activists have all died, what shall we do?
When there’s nobody to read the books we write
No word about love, in such a brutal world

No men to embrace, no women to educate us!
And this moonlight looks for the end of all adoring
But I cannot help myself, I’m foolish in all things
The clock keeps me grounded in absurdity

Never a nihilist, I laugh shyly into the wild
I’m always the honored guest at the feasts
Of the imagination, where I roam freely
But, the partners are sourly missing

I’m holding my own hand in this anonymous playground
Committing blunders for my scanty hope
So long I’d live and work alone
That I might forget all heart and mercy
Or suffer time’s designs with stronger plans.

If Loving is Destiny

These poems mine, created early
Are nothing but the soft sense of gratitude
To life, what offered us so much!
If we took her for granted

Let it be known, that I’m drenched in dream
That I hadn’t known of your art yet, Hae.mi
I hadn’t felt your little joys
As a kind of graceful thunder

In my world of watching the eyes
Of human beings doing what they do
These poems mine, are reflections of nature
That drop from fountains like

Our toes wet in the dew, this living
Is so beautiful, even without possession
The feelings melt into a cohesive whole
Integrity with identity, wishing with hope

Touching briefly as light upon branches
Making love with a spiritual connection
The poems, on youth and ruin, are fading now…
I am nothing but a spy upon your divinity

Set in your beauty, hungry for your soul
Ready to deeply bury myself in your goodness
With the water and bread, with you as the last drop of honey
These poems mine, they just whisper

And there’s no grave to them, only endings
I’m talented in endings, as I am a decoration
For the muses, to life and all that we can never touch.

 

Photo Courtesy.

Motherhood is the only Truth of Life

Hae.mi, every verse is a child of love
As I watch you with your child
I think upon the qualities of your womanhood
Your ancestry and your design upon time

The heart as a gulf, and a bridge and a blessing
I who have experienced so little true joy
Can admire the cherishing of a maternal love
That exceeds in brightness and in sport

The spring’s treasured moments of a young mother
I watch you with your child, as I would the stars
Or holding the Earth in my mind as I would
Imagine life caring for all the galaxies

Hae.mi, so when you think of me, remember
I die at dawn and daybreak, every day
To witness your majesty as a woman and a mother
With no decisions and no receiving, I’ll carry on

So as to die with the morning and the evening
We might support the future in a familiar face
Like your son or the billions of lights
That swim in the hawk-like night

And the swan-like soul of all living things
Those eyes, a little bit like our own,
Those hearts, that feel and hope and love
Like we do, Hae.mi, that is your gift

That I can love you like a father who watches his daughter
Taking care of the world while she travels it
In the years and greetings and journeys
Given to her, and what will live on in her sons

In his daughter, who will one day become a mother…

 

Photo Courtesy.

In Winter, Merits have a Woman in Mind

Listen, Hae.mi, there are no paths closed
Between you and I, where optimism points her passion
Where the door is to the universe
This is not the time for prayers

But the time to act, my lovely field
Where I play in all that is Heaven
O’, I’ve known thee in thy dress of whiteness
And in the tempest of thy insomnia

The league of ours is beautiful
Based on the soulful arts, and
I feel as though I’ve not seen the last
Of your smile, in my poet’s arms

The sacred sacrifice of the bard
Is not nearly over, the muse bends
In a festival of tempting destiny
Such being the idol of my consumption

To the beauty I know I rest in thee
To the wonder and harmony of all that’s good
Hae.mi, the secret entrance to your life’s totality
There are no citizens or policies there

Only the abode of ritual and sweet shyness
The last warm flesh of hope and gladness
And all those things not native to me
That you possess like jewels, fruit, perspective

An abundance of so much radiance I keep
Following your spark for a hint of the luminous
And at the court of your entrepreneurship
I’m firm like the dawn of the world

For your sunsets and miracles of action
Your nurturing of the beauty in all of us.

Photo Courtesy.

Her Gratitude Tasted

In palaces of fire and water,
Hae.mi, how does the heart not lose herself?
When from rim to rim she squanders her beauty
In the pangs of gorgeous motherhood!

And it arouses me, because we stayed at home
Where roses meet their blowing end
And fragrance falls on thirsty lips
By gates of Eden, erect and wet

Our first elation met vaguely understood
Beneath the mirrors and hunger of our youth
Not all in world I have despised
I, who could not have who I desired most

Beneath friendly fire and blossoms of the misunderstood
In winged freedom’s last designs
Where I touched beneath your skin
The kisses have no names that you can utter

The pleasures have no shame when
Each to each are wed in friendship,
And obscene gratitude, and a lifetime’s ache.

Photo Courtesy.

Songs of Ren & Chou

The dawn disrupts me with your fierce qualities
I am so vulnerable, watching thee
Fight for causes I wish I could own with thee
And belong to a voice that has that melody

My words rain over your tweets like New York lights
I delight in your footsteps in the snow
In the dark hazel and rustic baskets
Of your laughter, I follow where you go

I delight ever in your small triumphs
And grow a Titan’s fever for your trials
Small place and random wonder for the
Valley below, my dears, it’s anonymous

Like how spring will come to you in cherry trees
And the worlds you will see, that I will not
But I can share the foam of your dreams from afar
Like raspberry whispers in the after-thoughts

Of my heart that is bigger than it should be
And my soul that hangs lost in a quote
My love is an open-secret for your sport
Humanity disrupts the things we used to know

Don’t go too far off, let me ride the companionless dark
I want to know what aches at the empty stations
And how your movements chime in the smiling years
The lady soldiers of technology, freedom and the new world

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where
The idealism of the young is never squandered
It relapses in waves across the cosmos
And burns in the memories of we are meant to become.

The Ghost Dancer

Sleep Hae.mi, to rest your pulsating care

Where tears are for the past

Taking on an unsuspecting universe

I’ll see you thrive in independence

 

Comely with the rows of maternal jewels

Cherished by friends, beloved to strangers

Rest Hae.mi, from the wonder of it all

Where change is as lullaby and a signal

 

Of all that is yet still to come

Where a woman knows her art

And the hospitality of her own heart

And how much to give, and how much to keep

 

Festive Hae.mi, forgetting to eat

In a manic row with destiny

Faery fingers, soft platonic mildness

You are budding now, out from the mists of Autumn

 

Industrious, not wandering, thinking in new words

Where we can afford neither peace, nor ignorance in our dreamy lives

Hae.mi, the wildness of care, how well I know thee

To organize the mess of serendipity

 

To feed the bright array of synchronicity

Where on the floor of a nude sauna in your mind

I am brought to life for a few poems

To witness the birth of new beauty

 

Where your life borders gold with studs of silver

And art and technical proficiency meet

In your fate at the feet of your most puissant destiny.

The simultaneous existence as grandmothers, mothers, and daughters

I want to lift a woman from the sand

Where the sand was her bondage and perseverance

And I would be, as a man, bold and endearing

 

Holding her breath, she would wait for him

And I would be saving and saved, found and lost

I would bring Korean drama back to her source

For the good of the heart, thrill of the body

And lift her up to Nirvanic rays

 

And she would be bright as a Hae.mi of the ocean

Savage as a Hae.mi of the jungle gardens

Of Seoul, from whence she came

 

Calm with the footprints on the sand of the great loves

Where battle dreampt a human dream

Of love and fire, and sea-salt wounds

Imprinted on a heart, as fine and as tender

As the courage of dreams, and running wind.

City Limits

It has been some time since

I had been inspired, with dimples

And the juices of hope lit on fire

Like a karosine of kaleidoscopes

 

Rose petals stuck between my lips

It’s torture to live in the pen

When the heart forgets what it is to live

It has been long, Hae.mi, between sunsets

 

In the city of so much french-this-and-that

I may not discover love at the city’s limits

For I live a hermit in my own airy castles

I’ve got to write, like an unbearable bribery of hope

 

Where I am a thief, and you are the woman I most desire

Where foreign loans are paid in poems

Poems to the lost souls and coveted mothers

Hae.mi, it has been quiet a while

 

Since I was a third thief, by writing and by touch

The slipper dress of a fleeting caress

A see-through moment in shared secrecy

Where passion stalks on the invisible up and up.

All these unspoken words are left over Feelings

 

Hae.mi, I want the secret intensity of collusion

Not that I know what fiery touches are, I who have done without

The touch of the body or the needs of men

And if, my body becomes no longer mine

 

Would I pretend to blame a muse I know so well

From the darkness of time, where someone calls me

Surely she has no wings, only words to say that I am scoundrel or throng

And I, faltering through the calls of art

 

Yearn not for unity, but for intensity’s brightest wick

Where loving is for the mind, and not the senses to burn

Hae.mi, what I have become that I require not

The agony of the heart to feel alive

 

Or an army of the loins to feel as if I should possess

I am not that kind of lover, anyways

Only the poet’s unseen hand, and the touch of the eyes

Sowing seeds of language, where I am blind

 

Hoping for friendship in the ambiguity between the genders

Gone is thus rippling radiant youth and her precocious lies

Through my curiosity is still as hungry as the dawns

That first looked jeweled upon thee, for divinity suckled

 

In the womb of all things valuable and lovely

Like a beautiful dream, where I witness you Hae.mi.

The Little Dew

 

Hae.mi, with the mood for loving kindness

I fall upon thee, as the last violin concerto

From some former life, which I cannot name

I copy the Korean scripture, as if it was known to me

Hae.mi, there is no life worth living, but the one

Not thine, not mine, but something else

Reminded from a child’s face, I linger there for long

Unable to remember the rapture then, of living

Of knowing with any certainty, anything

I am trapped between seasons aware of my own mortality

With a holy assembly of symbols, copied by time imperfectly

There’s no original art to this loneliness, only a kind of death

No God but a scattered Universe of galaxies, points of light

That tremble faster than I can move, Hae.mi, that’s it

You have surrounded me like water, like air, like perfume

And I am left with nothing but the memory of own imagination

That softly whispers without reply, in darkness, in the night

Where we cannot sleep and cannot name that thing between

The hours that are not tame, so sleek and pearly like the rain

Hae.mi, I’m lost to oracles and harmonics of melodic Korean

Without choice fruit, but the power to love in my own way.

Letters to Xiao Wei

 

 

 

Xiao Wei, it’s not unlike the gods to

Celebrate us without any idols

My organs dance to the design of time

 

My lips are streaked with silence

My heart is stained with flowers

My hopes are soft voices left unwhispered

 

My faith is a tenuous flame that gleams

Darkest in the adversity of the night

Xiao Wei, my spirit is hidden beneath

 

The miracles of our everyday duties

That pause and collapse like a winding universe

Whose goal is nothing, so how shall we

 

Feel the change, when spring arrives ~

When morning sends me a blanket of light

To roam, across your face, across hours

 

Where I must not desire too much

The ancient genes of ancestors

I can only linger with humility

 

I am not part of the loveliest, but

You are, I can see it in your strength

In the tilt of your hips to the stars

 

In the palpitant passion of your ray

In the seasonal angle for your inner sun

I feel it like a necklace of seashells

 

In the weight of your tired smile

In the fragrance of your voice

That rings like an emblem of consecration

 

For which I do not know the significance

I am only a bystander that happened

To look into your shinning parlour of fantastic peace

 

I know you by your gruelling song of radiance

By your fire of quality, your industry of creation.

Xiao Wei, stay close, entice me again with your wisdom.

Life is not a Duty; It’s a Will

Sameness dulls the mind
And love shakes the heart
So do not be too cautious
This life is enough to sip

Do not hurry, but
Carry lovely garlands in your hair
And smile to break up the sameness
Burn with courage, to

Shatter the dullness
Remembering those things
We did in our youth….
Be young and stay beautiful

Give your heart to the world
Or live a miserable existence
We’re all inches from dying
Our genes are mutating at every instance

Instead of playing roles, play music
The music of risk and ventures
The art of losing and winning
In a speed of learning and changing

Life is too short to forget
What longing means, what reddening brows
What breasts that shoot like cupid
Whose heart is apple-plucked

Too soon must drop to the ground
But fruit is meant to be eaten and bountiful
Love is meant to be poignant and profound
Who takes joy in the wounds and errors

Finds life a garden of many delights
There is not enough courage to go around
To find a life worth the exercise of hunts
And strong muses to fill your life

With resonance, spirits, colors
How delicate and wanton the Graces
How easily we lose obedience to desire
As if a safe secure life was the goal.

Notes from the Future Underground

(Love letters to Asia)

I snow dive into you
Like the air of Autumn beating
Against your chest, the yearning

Of youth that is no longer young
Trapped in an aging body
My face knows no mercy!
I am the dove of white stitching
With a heart for a stranger’s smile

I’m an open lake of enigmas and
Surreal plaything of golden leaves
If you wish to, look into my eyes

There is nothing but guarded purity there
An endless array of ideals before sunset
I’ve cherished things and people
I will never meet, never see
But simply by knowing they exist

I am made more noble, more caring
About a world that shows only
It’s rough underbelly, it’s trials and stupidities

A civilization so vulnerable that believes
Capitalism will last forever
But I see the cracks in the system
The memory of corruption bare
And I will not agree to disagree, I will fight

For a revolution if need be, while I am young
Chilled and numb, I will not take
My place among the profiteers

Who joyless create a dead world
I drink to my soul, with the straws of eternity
And have distance foundations in my view
I strategize with machine learning paradigms
For more than flowers of written down words

I strive for an Autumn of convergence
That won’t be attainable until many years from now.

P.S. Instagram is blocked in China.

Without fingers of ecstatic women

What kind of a man would
Lives in words, marking them down as religion
As if life were a thing

You could inscribe, encode, digitize
A woman cannot be turned into art
She’s creation itself
There’s no binary to her

She’s magic, her care and womb
Loathes what is not real
Maybe that is why women despise poets
They don’t have time to become

Attached to a dreamer, their unborn children
Urge them to find less wild men
And besides, what atonement is there

In a life of unread poems?
I think I used to wash myself in that river
And I used to travel those landscapes
Maybe I was too poor to really travel

Maybe I was too cowardly
To find a woman I could stare into
And know all the beauty of this planet
I am nearly resigned to growing old

Alone with poems, like some familiar signal
Of my squandered youth, of literature
Being used to be my illegitimate cover
My design to escape from reality.

In Times of Trouble

I know what my heart is like
It’s everything and everyone
Dying inward for a bit of belonging

Hoping to touch a bit of life
For the sake of being reborn in identity
In sharing experience and tenderness
Was it for this I once uttered prayers?
That I should retire alone the years?

Bear me a crown of golden foreverafters
Love is the gold gown I’ve worn
In good times and the bad

If I grow a bit bitterly on life’s low shrub
Do not say I knew not flowers or
That I did not give everything
To the ones who truly mattered
Spring on horseback, Autumn on these lips

I knew and loved all that I could
My thin fingers lifting bright threads
Of music from the clouds

I know what my heart is like
Eun Ji, don’t you? I won’t sit smiling
But I’ll listen with Dandelions
And some brief word from you.

The Butterfly Card

The Butterfly Card

Eun Ji, I got the butterfly card

The Korean swimming in my mind

From watching too many romantic-comedies

Made in Korean, it makes me weary

Of how uncivilized and hungry I have become

How strange to be a poet

That I marvel most at happiness

At my most bitter hour

Like the divine sense with an appetite

For the most human hours

Pale stones of savage harvests

South American aromas and Taiwanese fragrances

The dancing burden of the dream of time

And how we lose a skin each summer

Only to climb into words once more.

On Being Conducted

In the sympathy of the Absolute
Mozart or Shakespeare didn’t know
How beautiful the categories
That makes a heart full with her genius
Or how a person can fly inside
In free-associating with our highest destiny

Sometimes we just follow whispers
And hit notes of mysterious Poetry
Or find a beautiful day to make music
And in the solitude of an ending meditate
I remember the feeling of internal seekers
That always wanted me to push on

And the petitions for more revelations
From the internal holy ghosts
I remember how certain emotions
Evoke a sense of wonder and how
The miracles drove me to visit the spot
Where God stood on his heels for me

And I felt the full gravity of time
And philosophy insisted to meet me as my guest
In the simplicity of what I believed was destiny.

Collapsed in a Pearl of Decades

Collapsed in a Pearl of Decades

Against all ritual we slept
Without sex, more intimate and aware
Of our innate deeper connection

We were souls that had been
Swallowed and mumbled by the world
Against all innocence, we had been played

Down to our roots, like boughs receded
By the elements, living & loving
There were idioms in Mandarin

That encapsulated what we had become
Monks or ghosts, or valleys of rain
And a shrinking of orange light

When dusk hits you bare-chested
On those days somewhere
Lurking between Spring & Summer

We were the unsung breaths suspended
That collapsed in poems, we knew absence
And cherished our abandonments

Like the self-pity that stored deep feeling
For a universe that begged to be forgiven
We had to undergo periods of purification

The kind solitude that is a shelter & a curse
A kind of barefoot splendour
Of learning again about the mute warmth of self.

Andromeda’s Diary

Andromeda’s Diary

Come back to me, Goddess of words
Musical voice inside my mind
That’s the only beauty I care for
Special guest of my writing soul

That hovers forever in me with delight
A beauty desired, never wholly tasted
Never to let me lose this grace
I most wish to see your translation

Of life to voice, experience to fiction
For we are all nothing but fictions in the end
Temporary fantasies at best
Subjective values subdued by whim

And made a golden home by circumstance
Blessed One, be free, but know that
I am here listening to your rants, reading
Your books, as light from a star arriving late

Asking again what I have to suffer
To hear your voice again, sweet child
Of literature, thick-feathered summer birds
Who bring eternity in for a while
From the wild, alive inside of me.

Dimension of Love Letters

Dimension of Love Letters

You leave me with a poem in my mouth

Stuck like a raspberry burst with the supermind

I have forests around me in your words

Is it okay, if I can love you forever?

Because maybe tomorrow I’ll be

Engraved with the Earth’s hips

Maybe my blood won’t flow the same

And I’ll be singing with no idea

Of how my heart became a planet

That looks so like Earth it’s uncanny

I’ll flock to the back of the room

Where you are speaking and

Listen to your storytelling so that

I might unfold better love letters

In the white space that separates our lives

Like a page full of quantum memories

From another dimension, where we are intimate

Where we are optimistic, moreover

Because we found each other.

U n d e r s t u d y of B e a u t y

U n d e r s t u d y of B e a u t y

You are so beautiful it’s as if
You’ve locked up beautiful things
That you have moved me

That you might show me
It is true I’m afraid of the power within you
If you would look at me

I would show you the immensity of it
The size and majesty of it, ask any man
How wonderful it is, yellow woollen breast

Grass bent in prayer, dew leaping over
Your feet, you are so beautiful
I should have asked for your name

Out lout and answered yes
But beauty is fleeting, like youth
You wrote it down, maybe that is enough

Like rubbing against by mistake
Freshly painted doors, listening
To laughter on the other side

There’s no woman on the internet
There’s no women in my life
So proactive as a fleeting face

Etched in my memory for love’s mortal hours
Yes hours, that cannot dream of intimacy
That learns suddenly, you are already a mother.

At a certain phenomenon of light #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo

At a certain phenomenon of light

In the jazz of listening to your jazz
It was a peacock’s cry
It was a re-statement of romance

When you thought romance was dead
And in perceiving this, I best
Perceive and listen to myself
Nor night nor blue, I exchange with pale light
My needs for the universe

I am an anecdote on how
To address clouds, elicit
The funest philosophers to speak from the dead

I am a promenade in mortal rendezvous
That lead nowhere, essentially
Converging upon oneself
In the streets and orchid sellers
In the women who blow kisses with just a look

They are young and do not hold candles
But I can feel evolution’s
Arrogance in their firm bodies

It’s not divine ingenuity then
To take one last look at the lilacs
Or in the hymeneal air search for a fragrance
That might help me remember
Earth, lavender, fantastic star

Looking for a Saturday metaphor
To describe the twenty bridges of feeling
The nuance of how meaning escapes
And time floods like ancient aspects.

We are the same

We are the same

우리는 같은 정신을 가지고
(or we have the same spirit)

I cannot become the love
I eternally wanted to be
It wasn’t something I could understand
Get my head around, get my heart into

It wasn’t something I could feel all the way
It wasn’t something I knew
Totally how to give, or get
They say love is like the Tao

It’s a well that can never be dried up
It’s also like the eternal void
Full of new births, infinite possibilities
I meditated with the traces of it

Like lives with a spiritual tracing
So that I might inundate
My entire being in it
And If I disappeared for a while

It was only to complement
It’s omnipotent alchemy
And be submerged in its power of peace
I knew somehow vaguely that

Love was everything that exists
And also knew, I was more herself than she was
I was whatever our souls were made of
And hers and mine, well we were the same

We are the same, and sometimes
That’s all that can give me strength.

Addiction 탐닉

Addiction 탐닉

I am addicted to the sound
You make in my mind
My ball of fire, my branded rite
My April fire-cracker

The cranberry tears of holding
Onto something so dear
It’s a dream I had, but it’s
Other lives who will lead it

Spring has returned with Vengeance
And I am green, and
Everything is about to bloom
Two solitudes sing in me

Recklessly like colors at their core
And I’m an unbelievable shrieking
Of heart into the naked night
I’m the lyricism of miracles

Laying low, bowing low, being humble
All the soaring of my mind
Beings in my blood like lion’s breath
As if everything terrible that happens to us

Is in its own strange sense, something
Helpless that wants help from us
I’m addicted to the purr of the wind
The whispers that you are near

And temptation as raw as the rain
Everything in me is feminine when
The secret thing in poetry is revealed to me
The only journey is within

The only now is internal
The only event is the silence that resides in your soul
And if your daily life appears at times poor
Blame yourself that you are not poet enough

Not brave enough to love enough
For one human being to love another
Is the only thing truly worth being addicted to.

The Flowers in the Mountains

                                     – EJ Koh

The Flowers in the Mountains

산에 꽃이있다

It’s mysterious being nostalgic
For that which you cannot place
I’m going on adrenaline
Into the dark, it’s poetry

For a little bit of ink
For the whipping girl
And the boy without a publisher
My pen is exploding with

That Korean language that looks
Like it was made up by kids
Who were speaking about
The book of the dead

And needed to translate it in a hurry
It’s mysterious to crave
The next book, by our own hand
Like love written on a leaf

That nobody saw, as they walked by
Plants cannot move, poems are invisible
So I hush, waiting
For the world to write through me
It’s like land, in the morning calm.

To Ancestors #blogencore #poetmuse

To Ancestors

I’ve taken the time to tattoo
A gun that is a pen on my arm
In remembering from where I come from
I find the inner voice again

I summon it from my belly
From my back that aches
With the years of long hours alone
Yes I have been alone, writing

Where have you been?
I travel the circuit and speak my mind
My ears and throat are sore
From the suitcase of free books

I have accumulated without error
I’m doing all that I am supposed to do
This is, the love of my life
Every word, word count, line, line count

Are the symbols I was created to write
I can feel the fieriness of fate
In my throat, hot like a tiger
When I speak, maybe you hear it too

Maybe one of my ancestors
Was a jester at a royal court
And I take after him
Maybe one of my grandmothers had a grandmother

Who was a prophet, and I take after her
Hot blooded I am here
Priestess, shaman, princess, scribe
My hands, they have silver endurance.

Celebrity of You

Celebrity of You

Parting is all we know of each other
And God is all we know of heaven
So why does it feel

I walk to heaven to meet you?
They say that God is everywhere
But I felt him most
In your presence

What does it mean,
So tell me the truth and tell it with a slant
I want a love that is anterior to life
Dying a wild night
In the arms of an eternal youth.

Beauty is not caused in her

Beauty is not caused in her

If love is immortality
How shall I love more clearly?
The day and eternity
In the collection of this necessity

They might not need me
But they might, and her
The her of my smile and sight
For her my soul stands ajar

Ready to welcome
In ecstatic experience
The small perch of her song
Will she sing to me?

Hope being a feather of will
Unable are the loved to die
For her possibility is my breath
When my whole body

Is so warm that no cold can take me
That is poetry, and that is grace
Morning without her
Is a dwindled dawn of orange

My nerves sit and wait in pink
Ceremonious to be alive.

Living off the Grid #EmmaFillipoff #FindingEmma

On Living off the Grid

We’re all a little bit lost
Not unlike Emma Filipoff
But we can’t all live off the grid

How many years will it take us
To go back home, there’s
Nothing worse than feeling alone

In a lonely world like this one
Everything sees through me
And I am anonymous

One soul lost among billions
And In a few years everyone
But my mother might forget about me

If I was to get lost in a city
I can’t go further west than
The West Coast, and every fibre

Of my beings wants to write
But I can’t live on poetry
Because being off the grid

Implies no internet, no smartwatch
No identity for that would be
The opposite of getting away

I no longer cry for the life I chose
For the life that chose me
I want my feet to be bare

To Walk freely without worries
I want my life to be shaven
I refuse to carry possessions

From place to place, it’s unnatural
Of unnecessary burden, the better
Part of it, my poetry, is open.

– Emma was last seen in 2012. Contact Shelley Fillipoff here if you have seen this young woman: https://www.facebook.com/HelpFindEmmaFillipoff