Sometimes I wonder...

   if you and I...

     would be comfortable...

       being alone....

         while just sitting....

          near each other...

            breathing easy...


              no destination....

                listening to the silence...

             in between the sounds...

           of our hearts beating...

         a solitary pair...

       alone together...

     no love to feed...

   no human needs...

  two players...

on a single stage...

no winds of worry...

   no words of rage...

     no climbing hope...

       just sand slipping...

        starlight fading...

          dimming into darkness....








  being . .  

She made the little black dress
more beautiful than it actual was
and it became more than
pieces of fabric and thread
cut and shaped to hang and flow
over her body as she walked

it became the sound of music
found in dreams where the night glowed
in the slow burning embers
only found in flowers that bloomed
from the heart of eternity
and love was a ship lost at sea
with no destination meant to be found

and the passengers rested easy
and drank heavily
and danced freely
and laughed heartily
and wrote a story in a language
only they would know

She did more than
just wear the little black dress
she wove it into magic and wonder
tore it apart at the seams
and reconstructed it
to a blanket of night
and a dream of stars falling in love
Akira Chinen Apr 15
Dear friend... I know I don’t call as often as I should... and lets be honest we can just about say, I dont call at all and I am sorry I am not better at keeping in touch.  I know we all get tired, we all work and a lot of us have jobs we don’t necessarily like, but we have to survive through the bullshit parts of life to get by.  So we put in our forty hours a week, or more... and the end of the day comes too soon and we still have too much left to do and we fall into the routine of tomorrow, I’ll call tomorrow or for sure this weekend... and shit comes up, not important shit...just small distractions and maybe a little insecurity or excuses and we don’t or I don’t.... and months go by and years turn into more years and I haven’t heard your voice on the phone or in person and I think, this weekend... this weekend... but then the weekend ends and next week ends and its been another year.  And trust me, I fucking miss you, I really do... all of you.  And maybe I will call... one day... but if I dont, know that I love you and I am grateful for whatever time we spent together that allowed me to become your friend, for whatever it was that made my heart open and grow and forever hold a space for you to be a part of it.  I can still hear your voice as clears in my memory as if you were sitting here now and it brings the same warmth and comfort as any hug a grandmother might give us.  I hope we both live long enough to see each other again, to talk about absolutely nothing important and to laugh about the things that seem to big and cumbersome to hold on our own and I hope I don’t forget to tell you I love you when we do.  When the day comes when we have no choice but to say goodbye, to whichever one of us escapes this life first, to whoever finds out what comes next next, I hope of all the things we might take with us... I hope it will be the love we shared.  

And on a side note, I know I rarely answer my phone, but if you call and I am awake, or if you wake me up, I will and I will be happy to hear your voice and I will tell you I love you...
Akira Chinen Apr 14
Death stops by to remind us
how beautifully fragile life is
and with her
you have gone away
and yet you are still here
in the quite moments
between my heart beat
and the silent space
between the tears falling
and I can still feel the warmth
of your laughter
and still hear the comfort
of your voice
I know not where you have gone
or if we will meet again
so what luck it was
what a privilege it has been
to have had you in it
my beautiful friend
Akira Chinen Apr 11
It was a trick of the light
and a play on words
and the curtain call came late
and the actors forgot their throats
and the dancers could not find their feet

the mad men were taken by sanity
and the poets came down
with respectful writing jobs
and the stage was still a world
but the audience was bored

the earth was skipping
on a broken turntable
but the wax was lost
with the death of the bee

the milk of human kindness
oddly enough
didn’t taste as good
when not stolen from the cow
and I guess that should be expected
from a species that hoarded
the trademark of kindness
and then locked it behind bars
of fear and mistrust

don’t believe what you see
and don’t talk to people who are strange
and most importantly
just do as you are told
until you are dumb and deaf and old

a quite cog and silent spring
won’t wake the dead
keep all your dreaming monsters
inside your head

its all just for show
hush that little voice
and enjoy the ride
it’s a simple fact of life
why resist when we’re all
just going to die

actors in cages
pretending to live free
reciting our lines
there’s no place like home

if home is where the heart is
why does it sound like
our hearts are beating
from the palm of the devils hand

It was just a trick of words
as they played with our lives
and slit our throats
and bound our feet
dead marionettes strutting like Romeos
waiting to die by the suicide of our Juliets

romance is only beautiful
in the humor and satire of tragedy
its irony without iron
a bullet without a gun
a trick of the light
as we play with our words
and forget about love
  Apr 11 Akira Chinen
when birds do not wake me
a bell does
and I mount the work horse

i forget that Ginsberg howls
mad at the moon or
how Sexton’s pussy has power
about Dylan’s asylum floors and
setting fire to the stars

and all the whores and dirty sheets
that Bukowski rolls in
or how Plath laughed herself to death
in the warm mouth of an oven

beat that horse so hard
it’ll die
and maybe we can retire to some farm
out on the countryside
put to pasture like the lame animals we are
because our riding days are over
and that’s just how it goes
i’ve got two souls
and they’ve both got to eat
but only one of them makes money

then there’s those nights when
i’m wide awake and I go dark
fuck everything
chop that broken leg off
put me out of my misery

i’ll write a poem

about how i hate the sunrise
it’s one day closer to a coffin

i open my eyes and
am all whips and spurs
bitter as morning coffee
Akira Chinen Apr 8
You where there last night in a dream
laying down in a bed
made out of moonlight and stardust
and your lips painted the warm colors
of hope in the empty space below my ribs
and whispers murmured
from the faint beat of something alive
inside of something I thought was dead

you kept your name a secret
and stole mine
and gave it away to a bird

with black feathers

and black eyes

and a black beak

and it chewed and swallowed
every letter and every syllable
and I became a nameless prayer
on the tip of your tongue
and a helpless beggar
and fool on my knees
and you wrapped around me
like a snake squeezing the last breath
out of its next meal

your skin was a blanket
made out of the soft heat of the sun
and it covered and held together
all the broken and lost pieces
of all the things I had forgotten
use to be part of me

and your heart filled all the emptiness
that I had been carrying in my blood
and your eyes where painted
fields of flowers and flames
and you sang a song that had no words
that told all of the truths
of what it was to find and know love
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