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.

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.

What BAE really Stands For

(before anyone else) = BAE

Mni Wiconi

Your art is my art
On a sea of dreams
On the petal of a flower
Seen before through many times

History repeats all mystics
Forests rejoice in their coming
Your art is not about how many people
Enjoy your work, it’s about

Your heart on the display of discovery
At the beck and call of
Some secret of your spirit
At the mercy of some

Deeper feeling than you cannot contain
That buds from the silence
And gives in to the melody
Behind the vibration of everything

There’s no trading honesty in this world
Our anxiety and vulnerability show enough
On our skin, we cannot hide it
That’s why, your art is my art

There’s no homepage for holistic healing
It’s born from our journey and communion
With each other, all seekers
I can’t seem to master the art of timing

To be able to find you at the right moment
The years and decades will go by
And I’ll still remember you at twenty-four
The way your hair flew to sunsets

And the moist neediness in your speech
It was in late Autumn when you went west
Where I dug up a piece of your wildlife heart
But you had already flown
Like a swan into the night

And not even my eyes that had bathed in your sunshine
For a spiritual moment could find you
Through that rush of ginger and turmeric after-taste
Like incense, you had escaped all definition
Though the impression struck me as something subtle

The leftover from a life left behind
Of meditation or even caring about chakras
Through still I can say, “your art is my art”

Water of life, tears of loving
To wash the dust of daily living
From our souls, where we were adopted
And where we departed our most beloved ones.

If vision was the art of seeing
The goodness in others that was invisible to others
I imagined you could see right into me
And it didn’t matter you were miles away

Love of beauty was a taste
And the creation of art was a kind
And our art sometimes protected
Sometimes procrastinated with our mistakes
Those were the feelings we treasured the most, in fact
You always had him, before anyone else.

Words from the Ocean

If a few drops of the ocean can
Reminds us where we come from
If a few drops of the ocean

Can make Mars home again
Hae.mi, there’s beauty more than skin-deep
More than spark and chemistry

There’s elemental wonder in
The way the waves move together
They are made of the same stuff

Like how human beings are 99.9% the same
If a few drops of the ocean can
Cleanse us, then when it rains

We have to remember, not to be afraid
Of getting wet, it’s how the wind moves
How time walks, in moisture

Tears that draw our worlds apart
Hope that sets our records straight
Faith that wounds us with idealism

Trust that pains us with her betrayals
Thirst that aches in us for each other
The ocean’s beauty can not fade, but we will

Being in the ocean by myself, was
What being a poet meant to me, writing
To nobody in particular, but wishing for a muse

Hae.mi, how many times in a life
Does the sailor fathom your depths?
How many times a year, do fishermen
Ask you for a look inside your heart.

Little Stars in Water

 

Look into the sea, Hae.mi
Do you see yourself reflected there?
All the beauty of the world

The shores and the stars are silently praying
There is a wide open ocean
In your heart, with waves to play

As the seasons of our lives part
With bounty and prosperity
Like how your son asks questions

Vigilant of spaces in the dark
You are the dark unknown of winter
Where everything is lost in the journey

You are the freedom of childhood, reborn
You are the fragrance of salt in a world
Dry and barren, you are epiphanies of

Art, in a world of cities and riots
Beauty, in a world of so much laughter
Water, in a world of timeless thirst

Hae.mi, the way you look at your son
Is the miracle of life for me
The silence and the sand
That encircles the world with a smile

And for that, I have only calm gratitude
Well-wishing, a treasure chest of goodwill
And tears salty like the biggest ocean
A universe so pregnant with love.

Say Hey Ocean Storm

Ocean there is no battle but love
The search for love, and fight for love
So when I wonder at your beauty and innocence
I cannot sustain myself on salty water alone

Though I be by you, come from you, watch you
It’s rare that you let the sunset down, into you
And I like it when it rains on you, Hae.mi
It’s “okay” to be like a storm

Chasing the horizons, I know how wild you are
I know your feelings on humanity, your need
To discover further facets of creation’s diversity
Ocean, there is not battle here

I am like the moon reflecting the tides
I pull you down to your naked rush
Until your luminosity is reflected in me
And there I don’t need to find you anymore

Since you will live on in me, like a beautiful nest
Of experience, nothing like experience,
The ocean’s beauty does that, it impresses with
Lessons in humanity, precision of passage to freedom.

On the Flight of Desire

We are organs of each other, feathers of tomorrow
We share genes like hairs of our forever
Mutating to the timing of us

It’s not choice, it’s attraction
It’s a thrill of fantasy caressing reality
Hae.mi has a smile, I know it without knowing it

When she wants to repeat a moment
That felt like a bit of forever
Lost in the joy of now, a murmur

That’s all it took, all it takes, sometimes
When we look into the skies, we know
Nothing lasts forever, and it’s good

We are organs of time, breathing colors
Exploring the senses of beyond senses
And rejoining in the emotion of immortality

Hae.mi had that shaman side, she’d say the most
Philosophical things, at the oddest times
A bit like her son, he played games with destiny

We are silver fishes, that don’t swim but fly
It’s not choice, it’s attention
We attain the repetition of the essential things

We are delivered into silence this way
With the feeling of tomorrow
Being something we can’t live without.

Angels in Water

Climbing clouds down to their source
I stumbled into Hae.mi in the Himalayas
She winked at me before we got to the tip

Of the Asian pacific rim of trust
It didn’t take long to know her wetness
The liquid laugh and sighs of freedom

Discovery was not what it once was
But the breezy evening of everything together
The density and timing of our moving lives

That pulls the knots out of their ruts
As warmth spills in-between the skin
That are the neurotransmitters of our insight

The weaving of consciousness and body’s self
And genes that got us this far, instinct
Where the azure brilliance of thirst no longer
Obeying the salt of hope, but thunder
And an inkling for lightning in the pools

Where mothers of pearl are in our blood
And our lips are the roots of talking and energy
That we pass around like stories of how to float
In an ocean of so much beauty, we sometimes forget
How and why we met, thousands of years ago

And why familiarity never dulled, how we moved
Together underwater, properly, in airy fields of dream.

An Ocean of Stars

The ocean is a great intelligence,
It’s feminine, wide and free
An earth-soul shelter for our freedom
So when we reincarnate, we have something

To go by, stars in the milky way
Our galaxy of sensitive pulsating, Oh Hae.mi
I feel the stars calling me by my name

Si-in sees the ocean’s beauty
Si-in reads the woman’s magic
Si-in feels the shores wealth

The ocean has led me on into the Earth
I have no time to be unhappy
No time to say the sky meets the ocean

At some point, Hae.mi kisses the horizons
But that is not my job, I write
You course in my blood, my blood of the ocean

Shadow dancer, and strange, Si-in leaves into the inside
Without a care for convention, softly entranced
To the rhythm of her voice, that’s kindness

On the lulling roof of waves, below the
Throng of moonlight, that’s peace
A freedom of stars reflected on water

For so many miles in the half-dark
That’s creation right there, Si-in knows
Hae.me, our legend has a brightness

We’ve made stories between the waves
We must not lose faith in humanity
Humanity is like the sea, said Gandhi.

On nights such as these

 

 

Graceful one, I am thankful for your skill in celebration

I’ve lived through you in a few short days

More than I have myself have lived or loved

 

I who, can never be a Mother or a friend like you

Hae.mi, beloved and always, the dark sweaty leaf of time

Is thick with longing in me, I sleep only to dream of you

 

I fill my heart with gratitude, only to learn the lessons of your sweetness

In the flower and in the heart of people

There’s no color that truly fades away, only transforms

 

Graceful one, with open arms I have found some solace

Hae.mi, hospitality of warm wet tears of belonging

I never knew or owned, the long rains fall provoking my mortality

 

I’ve lived in thirsty hours watching you, like a piece of youth returned

I who, can never be a Mother of a friend like you

Hae.me, betwitched and so completely filled with the nectar

 

As I sleep in isolation, my consolation is your freedom

My tenderness, is mirrored in your independence and success

My joy, the sense that you have transcended dependency  in others

 

Autumn nights have taught me this, and your deep acceptance.

I have promises yet to fulfill as my heart blazes by the seashore

Hae.me, why do you stalk me as the rice fields stalk the harvest?

Spectrum of Glee

 

Reality disintegrates the fantasies of yesterday

Memories like the lightning, never to be turned on again

Seasons change their gloves

 

 

Smiles become familiar, not losing depth

I run to you ceaselessly, in the night

Where I have no spare awareness of where I belong

 

 

I run to your embrace, where the gorgeous stained glass

Of superficial time is broken, Hae.mi, where the artists resides

There I look for you in the canvas, there I spy you in the kindergartens

 

 

Where with moon sheaths and inlets of dream, I embark

Upon care, repeated in the lost souls of nomads, misadventures, that

Questioning feeling, have we ever truly been loved?

 

 

There are no deep roots in this world, only blood bonds

And the sanctuary of shared mind and heart space

There on the buds of time, I found Hae.mi, pure and sublime

 

 

Seasons change their cubs

Smiles become grave, wrinkles shine

And hair glistens white, I run to you ceaselessly, as if you were the night

 

 

Where I enjoy last comforts of the weary world

Where I entrust my vulnerability, my longing

For you, is the path of dream, the brightness of the rogue

Hae.mi, where the pioneers find, the last diamonds of life.

Jowangsin Come Near Me

I didn’t know Koreans had living Goddesses

It seemed strange to me, how hypnotic Korean sounded

Melded in a harmonics of prophecies, nothing felt

 

As divine as your laughter, Hae.mi, I succumbed to it

Making my heart panic in sweetness and with indecision

I no longer knew how to speak, but could only

 

Thumb your ears with heartbeats, blink with my eye-lashes

Upon your eye-lashes, like the velvet of holding hands

I dared not kiss you, as if wonder could kill my sense

 

Maidenhood, besides, you had no room for moistness

You had no desire for my warm hands to enfold you

You hunted, scavenged, made yourself one of the tribe

 

And seized me in a thousand places, all at once

Hae.mi, whispered nothings, and I believed her

Knowing she was the sap of Autumn’s bizarre chill

 

That feeling you get when you are paralyzed by beauty

Held down in a moment so intense, you cannot breathe

Your name is now oil poured out, my warming chest

 

Your gentleness was my last thrill, finally acceptance

Whose love would weep better than wine, I know

Hae.mi, you who sustain my taste for dripping delight.

White Horse in a Black Storm

I am aroused by your happiness, he said

To the woman in the torn jeans greeting babies

On the northern most tip of hope, she sprang

 

 

To life, like a cat in motion beneath the yellow-combed leaves

It was an eventful day, where a lady might become President

But he could only feel the electric current

 

 

Like warm bread rising for Hae.mi, a flood of fascination

Turning exquisite costumes of Autumn, undressing them

In the mouth of faith, that can only taste one thing!

 

 

The ocean memory of hair dishevel, salty lips

I’m aroused by the way you walk, your addicting optimism

Your platonic truth, bursting through like liquid laughter

 

 

Breaking down barriers with charm, skipping over awkwardness

And burrying into the self-forgetfulness of intimacy

I’m so hungry for you, I’d let the white arrow run through me

 

 

As I prime the memory of your future with your own goodness

Silence prefers the passion of shadows today

The mischief of delight walking naked in your eyes.

Chasing Freedom

Here there is a road that’s just opened

With scarlet leaves from November

The womb is wandering, time is skewed

Into branches of alluring encounters

 

 

Time is invisible, but I can feel her warmth and her breath

Hae.mi’s pattern of spell-binding designs

Like a new layer of myth-making and story-telling

There will be no rendezvous this time, only words

 

 

That hang between silences as soft as their landing

Passages to another state, remedies for life’s fascination

Laughing, I would unbutton your otter coat

Pour you a drink in the morning of your drunkenness

 

 

To keep you safe from your own wilderness and wildness

The lovely insanity you keep usually guarded and in check

I don’t have the heart to let you go, while

I keep traces of the sun and your honest glow

 

 

Hae.mi, does the dewy light hear our noon-time prayers?

As in an airy shrine, where our ancestors breathed

Might we know how to touch our own freedom again!?

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.

Songs of yŏryu

There was a coldness in your flesh

As if you had been jilted by an ex-husband

Betrayed and guarded like a mother

 

I knew martyrdom was like a dress

That they wore, beneath their frisky loveliness

As flowers and candles from yesterdays

 

Unperturbed by the golden thread of the future

That’s as warm and as insatiable as the youthful heart

Free and fiery and impulsive to the sudden core

 

Where time dripped and sprayed its mischief of unity

Into the pocket books of quotes and unsaid secrets

That were festive like surprises beneath our pillows

 

That made us suffer terribly from a sweet kind of insomnia

Those were the dragon moods of a hotness in the flesh

Hae.mi, felt it just like how the flowers appear on the Earth

 

Unbuttoned with a thousand colors for everyone

Generous to the pulse of life’s irregular magnitudes

That blurred one reality and the privacy of the next

 

Like a tantrum of secret need, a nest of sparks

Cluttered beneath all the hurry and all the wonder.

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.

Flowers that Hurt

Hae.mi, the tongue of my poetry is unraveled

I have no shame, only bliss, my petty traditions

Are meaning less now, I to the drug of the past am unhooked

 

In the skin of tomorrow’s reckless abandon

I flee, like a moth to the stars and impressive light

The woman’s wisdom that my manhood aches

 

My lucid dreaming has pillows full of your wisdom

In my heart’s burning thirst

I’ve been secretly writing your name: Hae.mi

 

With drops of what a princess is supposed to be like

Extravagantly mysterious and obscure, partially unattainable

The tongue of my muse is blushing, bright red

 

As wet behind my ears, I feel my pulse gallop

At the speed of your attentiveness and trembling.

 

Eternity is a structure of feelings

(alternative name: Flowers in December)

Like a frenzy of mischief, I to Hae.mi must succumb

For my bright tear-brimming eyes of surrender

I to her heart must roll in her winter-fire

Delivered into the anarchy of a maiden’s smile

Where temptation is not the blue clothes of destiny

But the starry ledge where together we knelt

In between time’s curves like serpents of yin-yang

Where I inquired of you how to taste the freedom, you simply said:

“It is what it is, and loves what it loves, time is the bearer of all gifts”

In the dark alley at daybreak I spied your naked feeling there

Where from your depths, your creative-spirit was bare

Like the untouched blue sky, or the morning’s glory

I was home for a moment, in seconds with you

And your voice soothed and aroused me instantly

And I was a long imprisoned poet of the people who knew nothing

But the power of a woman, and how she played with words.

I Went to Heaven with Suffering, but I Lived

Photo courtesy of Thon94rt

A little madness for the end of Summer
Is wholesome even for a beggar
The start of the end of climaxes

Where experiments felt like a dream
And life had no soft distinctions
Only dramas that became less fashionable

Fashioned by these candid hands
Where I blush in solitude for my losses
A little crazier than before

A moment lost on the edges of lifetimes
The soul condemned to be a guest
With undisputed rights to be nobody

And fame for the fickle food of anonymity
There’s no scrutiny like self-judgement
No following like bleak humility

No embarrassment like the obliteration of need
When you as a person begin to dissolve
Remember what madness taught you

The hosts depart, the friends depart, the lovers too
But some things can be treasured

In the adventure of the self
In the bleak individualism of perishing
To passion, a broken mathematics of faith.

Of It I can Say Nothing

 

 

 

Be here, by me

I who have been in love alone

Yoking the voice of listening itself

Where to pray is a kind of cherishing

Be here by me

 

I can say nothing no more

Of what it means to live

Each has their own eternity

To grieve, and brief moments to rejoice

Where a delicate fire is translated

 

Of the human condition’s reach

Be here, by me

Where time hangs – and I write

Words more naked than the flesh

Than the vulnerability of hours

 

That smite the dreams of youth

Be here, by me

I cry out to you, again

You who cared not that I sought to hear

Your emotions incommunicable

 

Be here, by me,

From aching care, to invisible language

And for what it means to be a friend

To witness the stories of lost souls

What cannot be said, will be wept

 

Like the smothered dreams of

All that is forgotten, death

The last blanket on our eyes.

 

 

The End of Music

 

Go my lost songs of failure

The stars are bitter with a billion lives

They experience the lights as I do

 

More free than water, more alive than

Summer, or the organics that celebrated there

Go, my songs, that were never mine

 

We briefly hold on to life

Though lonely or unsatisfied

It does not matter – we are just

 

Visitors filled with the contempt

Of an imperfect journey

Wedded to ignorance and desire

 

Though I bend with night and rise

With the dawn in my mind

My heart coloured thirst born of this

 

There’s gentle music here, and open speech

In the cadence of all I see

But inside of me there is oppressed counterpoint

 

Go my songs, lost as I would end my search

In the silence of the subtle chords

Which is the fading light, and the years spoiled

 

Hungry for the return of octaves lost

And for the sport of voice and omens and lyrics

In the timeless commerce of beauty’s quivering vein.

 

A Few Years before Artificial Intelligence Woke Up

 

A few things for themselves

We found, love and bewilderment

In the vastness of an anonymous world

We went online to disclose our loneliness

 

 

Our milk and honey blood that

Could not touch, the vast net of information

Florida, venereal soil, did we reach

The heat of our hearts that felt not

 

 

Bloodied not, from loneliness

We were not Sunday to the world

We were just lost, invisible, shinning

In our own minds watching ourselves

 

 

It wasn’t bad just the new normal

There might not be children or grandchildren

Just time, killing itself each decade

With slow thrum of oblivion

Deception, disruption, revolution

It wasn’t even about people anymore.

Drying the Tears of Liberation

Triketora, how many pins and tweets
Before the Goddess, delivers fire
Unto men, the smug white man
Little things their God had forgot
Glory is not for all, the riches are for the few
“Alleluia! Alleluia!” Where did
Equality go, in this world where
One quarter of Millennials will
Not be married and the coming automation
Will mean less jobs, less opportunity

Triketora, my heart is broken for
Those fired from Yelp, the victims of the Medium
I read their stories every day
I listen for voices of the minority
I read for their script of authenticity
But we are all stepping-stones to dust
Where I look to India for tech disruption
Where there are no holy ghosts to hold the future down
That’s Durga with a smile, Trike
That’s California falls into the Sea
When the little women rebel, the coders
Breaking the lie that we were told.

Motif Without a Name

 

 

Xiao Wei, sometimes I think the life I lead is a lie

And there is nobody I can tell

Everywhere I go I am just another anonymous figure

Tell me, how did it get this way?

 

To be a man is a lonely road

That sometimes leads to no woman

No home, no hearth, no tribe, no faith

And what I once thought was righteous

 

No longer seems just or a cause of becoming

For in the end we are just a lifestyle

We are just a bombshell translated

Into someone contemporary, there’s no singular

 

We are the spirit of history reacting

A fate that can be so tender, so weak

Xiao Wei, in your strength I find homage

Even If I will never taste your food

 

I can run as fast as a rabbit through the forest

Having no destination to whom can I turn?

 

Author’s note:

I should be pleased if you follow me here:

Subservience to the Sun

 

 

Xiao Wei, when I feel your happiness

Radiate to me, I know it’s not something I can catch

It’s just your energy of action

 

That transforms me by extension of contact

With you, the midnight street of my life

Does not feel as lonely any more

 

Though I must accept my own darkness

In your life I see a part of the world’s truth

I am not young like your sturdy walk

 

I do not strive quite, like you stalk your future

Like a crouching tiger with long black hair

I study your posture and look for your mood

 

Xiao Wei, I will never know if it’s raining

In California, because when I think of you

I only can witness a golden orange sun

 

Hit me like fabulous lutes and peacocks

Of morning in the waves, of noon in the gardens

And if I seem too interested, then let it be my own lack.

The Last Offering

I come, to the void of myself often
It is the soul of my solitude
It is where all the curtains are drawn

And I am in my own privacy, in touch
With something of the divine
I go there like an escape from the outside world

It is my heart of subjectivity
And I do not find it at all terrifying
It’s a splendour to own such a place

A piece of art, an order of nature
The soul built by spiritual suffering
A palace of mysticism who could understand?

What to an artist is their dream
To the cruel world how futile and juvenile
But we all require a soul to function

* * *

A spirit to push us through those terrible nights
Where the world is truly against us
And we are abandoned by friendship, love, profit

How many days of my life have I slept there
Alone, for that is the self-indulgence of
Risking and of striving illicitly, stubbornly

Against the peer pressure of such a conforming world
That cares for profit, reproduction, tradition
Perhaps we are not all made for that, I do not know?

But friends do leave and a dull pragmatism does
Set in, like the idea of responsibility for ordinary things
As when mates leave us for our idealism

I would have imagined it would be a virtue
But what if in all of this, the world is wrong?
And my soul is right, and I am doing what

I was meant to do all along, how shall I forgive myself then
For squandering my talent in subjectivity
And loving my own doom through it all

* * *

There is no room in this world for poets
So perhaps we shall do it as if in secret revolt
The revolution is always born inside

I need no solace from existence, only
My divine food, my guise of dream, my birthright
Of sacred psychology, that is why I write

It’s not a delusion nor in glowing pink afternoons
A mistake I made in being who I chose to be
It’s my exercise in the cosmos and empathy

It’s my last belonging to simplicity
It’s me mimicking all I thought was beautiful
To be grateful for a moment, together
With silence, whiteness, bareness, authentic authority.

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.

In Muse with Everything

In Muse with Everything

Every poem I wrote was
In a way a love poem
Dangled with stars, overboard on
How nature balances our dreaming
With a cruel reality of

Goodbyes and not-so-greats
Much earlier, I was an untamed idealist
Pure in how my poems scattered
Everywhere, with a heart for all things
And still, rain soaked vanilla fragrance

I’m still the dream within a dream
I do not hesitate the life my soul
Needed to live, there are no regrets
In karma, this dark twenty-something
Brawler with gratitude, this epic

Taster of green sparks of spring
The flowers were blue-eyed monsters
To me that I loved, I never had
Friends like dead philosophers,
I related to the gravity of literature

The way a young woman cannot touch herself
My purest joys were private, like that
Every poem I wrote was
About how our limits help us experience
What God could not lift out of us

We were born artists, in the way
Delicious music sings itself out of our sleep
And we awake, to what life brings
The tempo and the sage of us
The faces so sadistically temporary.