In this fog of fatigue
a few totems still stand.
Window-like eyes
and tenderly closed.
The ruined remains
of such blood-sizzling days.
When I think of her,
the spirit child.
I am saddened.
She fluttered in-and out.
Soaked in silence
and soiled souls.

The sky this season has passed by.
Clouds swaying on the
wrinkled skirt of love.
Once, you lived
on mid-levels of paradise.
Now, you are high-flying and adored
A self-declared queen.
Selling your time for pink trinkets.
And beautiful robots in tears.
I deal in single ways.
Too sad too chill out at Starbucks.
Too happy to recoil
each day and fall apart.
As if this only happens to me.
With garden-variety brick walls.
I find beauty – a life old and ordinary.
Everlasting, and no end of bother.
Just like the silver thing
in the sky, we call the moon.
For better, for worse
or for the moon’s sake.
The tiniest of gallows.

A lone blue magpie
dances through
the pure winter air.
Cutting a path
to a firefly feast.
No grains of dust
or snow on the mountains.
In the depth of the cold,
I set out to follow.
The way of all flesh
that is, and is not.

 
Beauty is found to be ugly.
Grease-yellow as plastic plates.
Gases stuck with breath.
A hollow torso withering
and unrequited.
 
With the coming of darkness,
a dog howls to the sky.
A signal of love retained –
under the blankets
and in the temples.
 
A passion impaled on any flesh,
again and again.
And hope rises from the
mountains to the roadside.
No clenched fist,
just prouder to the end.

Standing by the streets,
a shadow cast down.
Only you care
if my arms are cold.
You told me my
words are sexy.
So, I wrote more.
Yes, you take me away
from the crowd.
To the poets of
my younger years.
And a sky full of sea mist.
To never wonder why.
That has to be something.
In the dusk, I walk back alone.
But I will be with you soon.
A dream drifting in the distance.

“I love you”
I murmur sleeping.
On my way to paradise,
for another night.
Looking at the moon.
Ten years too long.
But such a perfect moon.
What but a dream…..

The darkness came.
The wind came.
A shadow cast down
around the streets.

A wave of bodies
cast into a block.
Open eye looking up.
A new day bursting out.

Man and woman is Buddha.
And the road is bright.
Spring is on the way.
So I walk faster.

A vague sound frightens me.
Only the clouds know to speak.
Keep walking, walking.
Where are you now?

Across the canvas,
a path lay ahead.
With sweet meditation
and tender passion.
Only bones like darkness.

 
You showed me the sea.
Eyes closed,
the waves rushing on.
I found your hand,
and held it for the last time.
A sweet summer horizon,
no longer tormented.
Farewell, you passed
as all things do.
And my dream
went wandering.

 

A sound cuts
off the rushing wind.
And I remember you,
that impossible springtime.

Bowed in the morning.
Crying for the death
of pleasure past,
and tomorrow’s pain.
My body dressed for the living.
No wonder the clouds
turned into rain.

But life came out of death.
Every street, every mountain
lifting up the dew.
The richness of the land.

I will always understand,
your darkness tracking me.
To be born again.
Embracing your body,
don’t ever let go.

The sky is fitted blue.
Keeping us on our feet.
On a frosty night,
face was like moon-
reflecting on ice.
Missing mother’s breast,
wishing time back.
Pale clouds and pale trees.
Another wound,
broadcast to the world.