Sudden flowers lapse


the_secret_villages_by_inebriantia-d5j02fd

Sweet one, I’m so foreign to your luxury
I have no interest in champagne
I’d much rather an outstretched soul
The speck of birds in a silence of intimacy
I’m quiet like that, in awe of the little things

I’m the initial letters of lost fingerprints
A cherished voice that can disappear
As soon as I came, free in the watery prismatic white-and-blue

While I’m filled with glowing tributes
I’d rather live a lonely maturity today
Than always hoping for solace in the long journey
A bullet of delight, in the middle of the night
Nature’s beauty spilt in Korean-Portuguese

I know the flower’s life, the ocean’s beauty
The blue, to blue-green to olive set of a woman
There’s no margin for error in the feminine mystique

The years of mating, the search for experience
And it hurt to feel your singing flamencos go
Your wet destiny of the rumor of the sky’s thousand lips
Reflected in your bottomless feelings and charms
But with time, salt and whispers, I’ll forget you

Savaged by the carnivorous impulse in my hope
Where thirst is never enough, and in the calculation of time
I’m not immune to the fragrance of the distant pollen
That beckons me indignantly across the fields

Sweet one, I have no energy for anything but
The sudden flower of reciprocity.

Grieving for a List of Qualities 


Screen Shot 06-11-15 at 08.22 PM

Grieving for a List of Qualities

Eun Ji, why does love do harmful things
To us who mope in sweet humility?
Are we not the most harmless people
Love is a fire, sword, has it done you awful harm?

No! Only words, only words of lost love
The treasures that were too shabby anyhow
And pain, like well-known eyes of attachment
Taken, or lips, a name of a dear baby

The idea of who we were with such and such a person
The months that seemed to hover in ecstasy
But Ah to give ourselves over to a greater power
Or let nature do with us what she may

Such are the traps and doves and gold
Of the inner life, and the sharing pacts
We make with other souls, even if temporary
All to craft our heart in more particular a form

How much we give and for whom, perhaps
It’s all a selfish play in the end, we are always
One step away from beauty, one step
In love not with the person but the idea of a person.

Each Slice of your Life had Another Man on it


5

It’s a long time since I
Have heard from you
And today, I miss you
For no particular reason
Perhaps only a reminder to myself

That I am easily attached to
The idea of intimacy
But my name is forgotten

As my existence will be
Once I am gone, the generations
March on in their crude selfishness
I will not take more lovers
I will not have another mother or father

There will be fewer monuments
To make the years, the passing
Once we talked about changes

And you spoke to me of your future
And while I long for your happiness
I know the kind of inner state
Which you habituate and generalize
You’re not the kind of person

To miss others so easily
So in my forgotten nostalgia
I do not give myself permission
To think of you too often.

6

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ophelia-389897495
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ophelia-43622806

Walking through the light of the world


3

We scattered to the night
like diamonds and stars
owls of forever
never to be seen or heard
from again, my friends
went off, I carried their words
in my pockets, on my heart
those burning treasures
the years of bones and
making it alone
The private hours that gnaw
At the days like lost battles
Humiliations too common
In a cruel world like this one
We scattered to the night
Like lost lovers of literature
Desecrated by the seasons

4

The kind of wet deep down sorrow
That each broken heart multiplies
Here is where every speech ends
Here is what they don’t say
What happens after the story
Here the star is black
And the light empties out
Even of the shadows.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/BELIEVE-IN-FAIRIES-487738766
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Oh-Ophelia-487357522

Spectrum Disorder


I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.
~ John Cage

65

In the penthouse of cool August
the trees have begun to whisper Autumn
the fragrance of anniversaries

an instinct to catapult meaning
into some creative form, some relationship
where the banter of everyday
might be fulfilled in a forfeit of identity

no matter how long the hiatus
these street lamps remember me
but the people I knew are gone

we’ve gone our separate ways
you used to laugh at my love of writing
but I still sweat at the writing desk, love
these clarinet-oxytocin dreams

where I learn to be merciful with myself
my precious psyche deserved better
my rhetoric of sweet-salts left

the flower of my being coming into view
an orchid of failed seductions
a white rose of broken-hearted
love that no longer requires human love

summer was meant for vengeance
and humanity was made for loss
but my timidity is satisfied by
a more divine neurochemical
than sappy serotonin or dull dopamine.

Photography courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Fire-471797211

To Death Are We All Bestirred


11

All souls of those I loved
Remain translated inside of me
Like a body of literature compact
A bright array of time’s swinging singularities

So many harps hung upon the balconies
All these guitars twanging for
Cheer divine, our star like courses
Comprehend the racing years

In wordless ascension towards our
Own kinds of bliss, mortal hearings
We are garlands of quatrains
Stanzas of the unyielding Almighty’s word

How we endure like spoken flutes
Of alien thresholds, invisible feelings
I am not sure, all spirits of those I treasured
Remain like jewelled ornaments

On the lips of children not my own
They will not take the earth by force
But by the bodies of their subtlety.