sometimes
i feel that
all my dreams have been rusting

sometimes
i wonder
why am i so disgusting

Let me collapse restfully into your arms,
ourselves a bundle of tindersticks,
waking wooden wagons warm.

Neither sorry nor shattered,
only curled in fever
and sunset bliss...

I want this,
in the depths of my core;
I know light,
despite what I try to ignore.

Like gravity you weaken me,
and make me sink each day,
until there is nothing left
but my heart, exposed above the mess,
the rags of filth, the bands of flesh
that made my head so sway.

Till sunlight goes,
we'll think on those
forgotten notes
we longed to play.

Dreaming in risers
of distant delights,
never to surface because they are worn,
themselves neither sorry nor shattered;
merely a feverish hope, singing
pleadingly from the deep:
Let me collapse restfully into your arms.

I vow to you an oath
from now until my death
to starfall and the rise
of the blood moon in the skies:
I'll love you, I'll love you
till the west wind creeping strong
comes along, comes along
to beat the mountains down!

Till the sun, far above
and the heav'ns and earth collide
making every green thing die
there I'll lie, there I'll kneel
over eons, overzealed.
Till the river changes hue
and escapes the oceans blue
I'll love you, I'll love you….

in like lions and out like lambs
you ride the burgeoning tide
and hold the world-cross
in your hands
in your hands
made of fine and polished clay
what you offer i accept
what you say i must obey

counting dreams and memories
leaping high while sitting still
in my bed i am fine
until
the buzz of a nagging bee
reminds me
there is one who loves me still

all good things come in threes
so i venture to write a third
verse, without counting
any line or any word
so as not to be drunk on ink
but solely focused on an impression
an obsession
which has been growing and now
looses itself from rulebound chains
to love you as freely as any
green field born child

may you flow ever longingly,
sweet purple stream, carve
a canyon
through my barren valley,
while i stir up the galaxy
and moon for you.

the federal government built a bank
maryland wanted to tax the bank
james mcculloch refused to pay
the tax that maryland sent his way
so they went to court
supreme court

"the bank can't stand!"
said maryland
it doesn't abide
by the laws of the land
but the court decided it met the laws
by the necessary and proper clause

My with'ring will is like a willow:
With ev'ry wistful week, I weep,
And I but weakly wet my pillow.

mellowly air's so clear:
she is not there;
once she was near.

freshly-soaked soil
Burmese cloudscape
humid trunks wrestling
for domain of the sky

head poundings
thick broom tidings
jovial jungles
standing atop
little dark city
white shoe brings
moon death to
vesuvian-whipped
crater polis.

Purity of mind,
Wholeness of being;
What caterpillars lose,
Butterflies are achieving.

The potter's wheel is always spinning,
And the dusty mouth of the gods has not been swept.
Who knows what the king of the earth wants?
I eat white radishes from a bowl of oil.

i like very much the sound of
my bones beneath your bones—
although comparatively softer
than mine—still made from
protons and neutrons and electrons,
all deservingly placed
in their element.
i like bonding with you,
and bridging the black crevasse;
hold me warm,
so i'll forget how
water feels in solid form.

mondo, fermat, calridiando
mondo, fermat calridiando
viladucci vendade

in the age of modernity,
I remember
the sympathetic ink
that, when set alight,
produced a message.
fire danced on paper,
and brought hope to a hopeless soul.

will my fortune reveal itself,
or will it lie hidden in the caves?

I sit, I wish
    for the glistening moon pools
          to sprinkle down my way.
                 Dreamy starry sky,
                    and the soft combing breeze
                      sings sweet lullabies
                    to the indigo trees.
              Sing the same to me,
           and I'll go where you go;
            river so wide,
          wider's my window!

           Now dance as you've done
        so many times before;
      embrace the morning sun's
       broad rays on your shore.
                                                         Far banks shall appear
                                                 with the coming of April,
                                               and strike out I will
                                            through the dusty rock passes
                                       through mountains of yellow
                                      and bridges of gold -- until
                                          I gain the city of friends,
                                             lamplights and streetlights
                                                    ­   and buslights and doors
                                                           ­       will be closed.

                                                        ­Gone, then, are the wishes
                                                 and wonders and wants,
                                      the things that I hoped for
                              a long time ago.

                     The trill of the strings
                           (my only respite
                                from keen madness
                                      or a tantō
                                      to wish me goodnight)
                                 rises on palm-tops,
                            floats in cool grasses,
                       gives purpose my soul.
                                  So much peace I find
                                     in warm charming moonlight....

                             Tomorrow, concern may put your course
                                       on a laxed and lumberous way,
                                  great river of the dying day,
                          but as long as my will goes on,
           and the wonderful will of the Maker,
     those fleet-footed brigands
won't catch me, for I am
      faster than they are.

...Calming storm,
     you stirrer and squeezer,
       present most of the time that I need you:
                Set my mind,
                   for all its vain attempts;
               make me relent,
                 and I won't deceive you.
                        Till then, I'll be leaving you soon,
                            but know my April blush
                               is the same color as in June,
                              and the fabric of all that I hope for
                            is the cloth of the comforting moon.

My heart is filled
With many songs
That I think would not
Make good poems

what is wrong?
i ask myself
and always say:
i'm far from the mountains
that cradled my soul
i'm far from the rivers
that carried me home
i'm far from the grasses
i hugged on the plain
i'm far from the islands
i won't see again
since i've the vital strands of nature left
no wonder 'tis my heart that stands bereft

Need you not my life to hear:
I was born, now I am here.
If few words disinterest thee,
Cut the limb and leave the tree.

Will you jump to laugh and jeer
Something slim or slight or mere?
Tales without a finite end,
Records played out, year by year, is
All I have to offer, and to
You, who whistles troves of them,
Heaps of wool 'twould be to shear.
Why pay mind, when all I wrote were
Songs of a resolving note?

If but one would come sincere,
I would, glad, delight their ear.
I would start to weave a thread,
Then my life would seem less dead.
But, as prying faces peer,
Wherefore I remain austere.

So there's nothing more to see;
Birth and death defineth me.
I was born, now I am here:
Need you not the rest to hear.

The flat island floods
for want of a ****;
the land turns to mud,
the landsman alike;
  cursing the robin,
  the jay and the shrike.

snowpiles won't move plows
as much as eyes move plows
i feel like floating over snows
in every dream i seem to be

home is a far-off place
a black silhouette
of an urban mountain

i will journey today
and cross the threshold into night
with you this sleep i'll spend
transit
no fare i offer, sorry
no fee did you demand

above the blind vanes we want to rise
not beholden to time's winds, like
incorporeal beings

and have the hopes of the world
as stars pinned on our refrigerator
each of them keeping us warm
in the voyage from
midnight to midnight

the clock will strike
the sun will fall
the world will stall
in a moment
a pale moment
surrounded by our visions
ribbons of a bright future

tomorrow
nothing will change
as we fly towards ryukyu
our last journey

but my world will exhale
as the days get longer
and sun-up again, stronger
and somehow this comforts me.

Nine days have left me
hardened and without hope;
giving in to indulgence,
sprinting for the hangman's rope.
Letting threads crush my neck,
cowering gladly in the dirt;
as my poor lungs fill with sweat,
eagerly embracing hurt.

But if I should decide within,
to blindly turn away from sin,
my past be calmed,
my saber drawn,
and warily,
once more,
I'll begin.

no one to answer to
there's no one to answer to but myself
no one to answer to

take my hands and knock me down
take my life away
all i am lies on the ground
ei ai ei ai ei

The deep somber toll of a brass bell,
a black wagon carrying me to the grave:
these are the sighs of a missed Friday.

I haven't a way
to repay,
I say,
to match the bright
and glorious day
that forever washed
my sins away,
for now and for all time.

And each and every
blessing hence,
I've found no need
to recompense;
for now, my heart
lies on the fence,
for now and for all time.

All I'm asked
is what I have:
what constitutes more
than I need to live;
but what I have,
I refuse to give,
for now and for all time.

So I'm selfish,
so I'm foolish,
so it has been since my birth;
when offered all
the wealth of Heaven,
I value more
the things of Earth.

But if I won't take heed,
and swiftly adjust my creed,
then I'll bear the weight
of lifelong greed,
for now and for all time.

the moment you were born
a quasar shed its form
and starkly breathed the essence
of purple effervescence

bringing
to the rafters of heaven
a joyous song's occasion
together

Away from crystal spires
Into the heart of the city
I wander

I visited your page,
Like it was of use;
And although you did not
Seek to amuse

I couldn't help
But laugh that day,
At all the worthy dreams
You swept away.

"A brother,
A team,
A United States Marine."

Such a shameful rendition
Brought me to tears;
Cab could really croon
In his younger years.

I'm saddened by my mirrored face,
Smiling like a Sogdian on his rock,
When every grain-glass touched
Conceals belded thoughts.
Still I don't dare
To settle on that canopic fold.
At night's blessed brim,
Sing a good song for me,
And place this wood-husk lute on the wadi....
Come spring I'll be just as cold.

O, rolling river of silvery shore,
Take me to my home once more;
I'm weary and tired,
My soul is spent,
And my body will water the fields.
Will water the fields
Above the clouds,
In gentle, whispering vales.

For love! (For love!)
Endure! (Endure!)
Hosanna! my enduring love,
Forever!

Carry me on,
Carry me swiftly to ashen groves,
The rocks that will become my home;
And lay me on the Roman road,
Where travelers may remark.
They may remark,
When passing by,
With chariots on their wings:

For shame! (For shame!)
For grief! (For grief!)
Oh! a kind-hearted fellow was he;
May he rest in lasting peace,
Forever!

Oureana, Queen of Granada,
Looks from her Moorish palace veranda,
Reclined in a den of lavish repose,
Sipping sweet milk from a porcelain bowl.
Draped in damask and easter green,
She watches the soldier ride below.

“Resist your whim, don’t look at him!”
Softly comes the desperate hum
Of a servant forgot and ignored.
“For you, this sin evokes the din
Of sieging torrents, wind and war…
I wish, my friend, you’d hear again
The crack of battle nevermore.”

Oureana, young and beautiful
Rests in her den of lavish comfort,
Looks from her Moorish palace balcony,
Sipping honey from a wooden bowl.
Draped in red damask and easter green,
She watches the soldier ride below.
"Princess, do not look at him!"
Softly comes the desperate hum
Of a servant overlooked and ignored.
"Even now I wish you peace,
To hear the crack of battle nevermore."

when floods rage in the summer breeze,
our springing is forgot;
and then there'd be no others, we've
already cast our lot.

Now the sirens weep about the inlet,
Red-eyed, she goes walking beachward somedays;
While the men are picking grasses, she is staring
At the wide expanse that took her boy away.
And the waves become emboldened now to touch her,
Softly sinking sands surround her knees;
In the forests of brazilwood, factors shudder
For the troops that they had marshalled,
Raked with fire in armfuls,
Cut down in the darkness of the trees.

how am i still getting used
to your mourning elegance
even after so many breakfasts?
how many times have i
thought and forgot
about what matters most
and left our stomachs
growling cats
at the foot of a jungled coast?

ornate blue mosque
smoky jazz risque
enchanted beat desque
question i asque
drum soul mahogue
undercurrent analogue

pep band night
hornsmen file out
the rival team to fight

Sun-wine on a fair Venetian morn,
where pleasant friends arrive
like fluffy clouds, the sky to adorn.

I tip the bare bronze cup of constancy—
in mirrored movements alive—
and I render new health to the company.

Let my past be published now,
I care for it no longer;
Look between my righteous things
To see I was the wronger.
Gather all the worries
I'd fret about in winter;
Shove them off the highest cliff,
Make them crack and splinter.

Traipsing in the gardenside,
Dancing in the hollow;
Feeling for a mason's nook,
Sweet Amontillado.
Down within the castle walls,
Down among the relics;
Bearded faces line the halls,
Lilting in Goidelic.

Slowing pace to stop and smell
Of a strange antiquity;
Thinking on a silver day
That happened once in Brittany.
Countrymen with muskets bared,
Bent on fiery shot,
Pounced upon the zealous rogues
Of Napoleonic lot.

Wand'ring mind, drop your guard,
Stop your nagging ways;
Hark! the drap'ry's bold aura
Welcomes warmer days.
Happiness is fleeting,
Sadness is extinct,
So let my every passing thought
Be mindful and succinct.

cracked fog moss
garden blacktails sing
snowmelt pool

stop giving me news
pulsate my rhythms differently
cities and urban life

i read your views
and all i hear are hatters
convinced of their own greatness

fox worm
shine on down

from.

Pretty skies over tree-shielded river
The fading call of birds
Pink swirls surround the crescent moon.

Day transitions to night
A bus tries to improve its self-image
I empty a pail of sweat over the balcony.

Dunes of pride are often swept
Away by the winds of humility
Like heavy ornaments on an old tower
Leading ultimately to collapse

In nestled sighs,
I walk alone;
A weary prince,
But I have not the crown.

I sup with fools;
My gait is graceful;
I offer them samples,
Of what I find tasteful.

"Come, ye sharks!
Fill your jaws!
Accept my gifts,
Come one, come all!

But always be ready
To offer applause,
Or suffer to hear
My deadening pause."

And late at night,
Within my chamber,
I latch the door,
So none may enter.

I write in earnest,
My story to you:
A prince of fools,
But I am one too.

red airplane:
whir whir whir.

red airplane:
whir whir whir whir whir

over cliff
under sky
in the currents:
fly fly fly
ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ

see this steady improvement
surpass surprising leaps
achieving quality in quantity

rich peasant
pockets bare, heart full
love is gold

rock was never me
and neither was
it has always been

To the sole sea child
of the mother who willed,
whose wide basin womb
the impassioned waves filled
and sewed up a coat
for the soul of the earth,
to her newborn heir
and most reverant birth,
we shout, not in shame,
praising whom the sea breathed,
who clothed dry lands with rain
and gave life unto we.
   Now we vow, undeserving,
   our fidelity unswerving.