the pieces fall into place
&
sometimes
the place falls into pieces

I am not a woman
No, not a man either
No flesh so keep shush
Crossing borderlines
Of love and hate

Through letters
Perfectly distorted
By motion of emotions
Spilling ink through papers
I am born free to wander

My body is a story
Of pain and pleasure
Slipping through time
Yet keep sailing away
From oblivion*

-I am a poem.

....
Your soft strokes of brush
As if touches my dreamy springtime
Peaks love from the old trash
Where the endless fairy of rhyme
As I read this poem
So many times
It doesn't mean that
I have forgotten repeatedly
Just I have felt in too many ways
Yet a few lines of poem
Grows a new meaning of love
And emitting the dreaming rays
Even when I am passing through
The very pale days
...

Little synchronicites
We all know 'em
When we see 'em

She went to school with him
He dated your best friend
Your friend's
Mother dated his father

And when I was drunk
I t'***** his daughter

Little synchronicites
Like a ***** and an egg

If he hadn't spilled
that wine on the
white duvet
taking forty-five minutes
to clean it up

You wouldn't have been conceived
and that, my friend,
would have been that.

That's the little synchronicites

The apartment coming up just as your being evicted

The cancer of your friend
Was treated by the doctor
who owes you
many amends

Little synchronicites
Always right on time
Never too late
Never to early or too soon

Some call it fate
Some call it coincidence
Some call it destiny
Some call it
God's will or the Ajustment Bureau
Some say
Everything happens for a reason

All I know
is
The little synchronicites
Poppin' in Poppin' out
like a Higgs Boson
Startling the mind
And
Moving On.