Flippety flippet jiminey cricket I lie on my billet
Take a strut, one sharp cut, cig on the fillet
I know that fellow there
I know his mother, with the wrench-size arm
Hushed kisses, good-bye, her flesh clipped my head
We swirled, more than mess-like
Reed roof glimmer overhead,
We landed together, head-to-head
My hands stranded, realizing nowhere to rest

To her now, I knew he would be short
Torn leggings and holed green hat
He came to me towering over
And I screamed to him, once and twice louder

Flippety Flippet, Jiminey Cricket, we’re in the same billet
But you ain’t who you think you are
Her son, our son died to the whirring birds
In our arms, Flippety Flippet, ice-cold, eyes-closed
Couldn’t tell the difference back then

He answered, unassuming,
     If I ain’t your son, whose am I?
You’re Jiminey Cricket’s! Flippety Flippet.
I don’t know who I am
And why my arms curl and head swirl
Less, how do I know about you?

Who –
Who, who, one more and you sound like an owl. Look –
I wanna know who lit the fire.

I lit a smoke, shake the cig to see who hadn’t smoke
Fire embers pop to the crack of my two-*** mouth

Why are you pulling two?
One for you, calling it the peace-smoke
To peace, two a-piece, can’t have peace with one

I remember him but never told him so
I lit the fire, and there was no whirring bird.
Just he and his brother - one minute off to the tee
His mother woke next morning,
said one would be given by the army

Flippety Flippet Jiminey Cricket, about time he knew the secret
Flippety Flippet Jiminey Cricket, his mother hid it
Not me, Jiminey, not you, Flippety,
The harder I scream.
About time to let loose, Flippety Flippet
          I had a twin, you know –
          Light me a fire won’t you?
I did; and it’s nothing that I’ll ever forget.

To be known is a meaningless quest
unless one say something true.
Success comes from Empowerment -
by truth and one's own desire to Safeguard it.
As an Oak sways, stand lone and strong,
else the seeds grounded
lead everyman wrong.

She smiles at me,
baring twenty teeth and thousand arms,
towering in the grass.

Round her crowds men - spokes of men,
eyeing and climbing for her youth
Young and fearless her children are,
and so is she,
locking her steel-coated arms
tight on her children.

Les they be careful
the sun will shine on their homes
and Spring will take them away -
cajole with his sweet talk,
lead with his loud mouth.
Four by four, the blossomed children
leave their mother, who
doesn't hear a word.

On river banks and narrow creeks,
on closing books and lovers' looks,
on baskets and gardens,

the powdered children will soar and
their mother will be waiting
where they are.

for my mind to
write something for you
is for the flowers
to feed nectar to birds,

and your presence and
ears are the vessels
so my seeds are
sown in the ground.

Hello, you, who
reads poems like
a musician clefs.
Basses, so bold and italic.
Half-notes, half-thoughts,
succinct and seemingly
purposeful.

Poetry, is the shelf
on which my thoughts
gather.
Vessels with which
I slice across my head,
and sprinkle stars
here and there.

Mother, father, you, I.
People whom I have
not yet met but have
greeted with my words.

Hello,
here are some words for you.

A poem, to a good day.

forgotten: in
the bush, looking
for bodies that hang from
trees, where the apples are -
high above the canopy.

so easy, to smile and
laugh without knowing
how my stomache hurts
once, twice, everytime
it moves.

or that my heart beats fast
once, twice, too many
times, for fear
someone from
my past or future
is chasing me
to blaze my thoughts.

here i am, and
there you are:
white and yellow
like my grandmothers' sweater
in April, or our eyes
that reflect our skin.

i pull and cramp
way too often when
i run.

like i am not fast enough.

i am not
fast
enough
maybe because I spend too
much time
in my four by four,
counting one to four.

but what else
can i do?

*

to forget:
is the simplest way
to avoid fear.

path of least-resistance.

like your bullets
through my brothers'
skin, and your
swift exit.

clack, clack,

the door opens
once, twice, too many times.

so what if they
don't come back?

then I will be lost,
people who look like me
will lose,
we will be lost.

but we have lost.

i guess
that's why we are

here,

mourning about
losing and being forgotten.

because our berries cannot
poison your hull.

but maybe i can.
he can't, but
maybe i can
maybe,
Maybe,

even though his
head cracks before
he left his four by four.

But I can.
I have to
leave.

Here I go.

Summer is running away again.

I hurry. Straddle. Search.
for answers to fill the questions
that will come.

Cry: I'm from the jungle.

And they leave me alone.
In my palms, their crackling
****** lights  
the way while I,
child of democracy and tears

Say: I want to love, not fear
muffled beneath their brazen crackle.

I
a stubborn memory, barking up
in a ****** language, rustling
the quiet night
with my foul tongue and
***** eyes:

tinh yeu khong so hai.

Like a twittering bird -
good for no one's sake,
existing for mercy.

I cut my tongue.

translate: love,
not fear.