Forty years ago today Saigon fell.
I wonder what my 60,000
fallen brothers would think
of the country they died for
if they could see the prison
it is becoming now.

No knowing.

But I think: sad and angry;
especially angry,
and perhaps, vengeful.
  ~mce

Just how important do we
imagine ourselves to be?

Maybe not so much
as we would like to think.

Perhaps we are merely quirks
of sexuality and history.

Does that bruise our egos?
Who would we be if our
parents had never met.

The Moirae spin our fates
which hang on feeble threads;
the fragilest of continuities
bind us to this world
of brutality and beauty.

Yet we count our money
as if it were steel cable,
proof against rust forever;

we fight our wars as though
something noble and eternal
depends upon their outcomes;

we pretend we are playwrites
instead of actors reading lines.

Vanity of vanities.

In error, we drive ourselves
to beat hard against the wind,
headlong against time and death
as if we are actually steering.

Until the Day we must look
the Tiger in the eye and know,
too late, in that certain fatal second,
that we are small and weak
and mortal and always have been.

And the earth closes over us.

I'm stuck on a major highway
my life's all jammed up.
The wheels are turning, I'm not
moving so I'm just stuck.

My lights are flashing on and off
I'm trying to be cautious.
I want to get out of my car and run
away but I'm much too exhausted.

No matter how hard I've turn the
wheel I just cannot make it move.
I left home early this morning and I
sit now watching the nightly moon.

Getting to the point of how this day
has gone, it's really troubling me.
If there's something positive about this
day it hasn't been revealed for me to see.

One day I'm sure they will find
And throw on me the charge of guilty
As it is that I keep on trying
To **** off your precious memory

This I have to do on my own
I don't dare bring along an accomplice
After all you know what they say
About loose lips and the sinking of ships

The more people I get involved
The more your memory will linger
And if the cost were to be counted
I'm sure I'd be the one to suffer

Knowing one of the places that it haunts
Is on the edge of my mind
I'm going there after work tonight
And I'll be carrying a knife

Though I'll try and make it quick
I'm sure that it won't be painless
Since your memory has been here for years
Right at the top of my hit list

I'm pretty sure that I'll be arrested
Packed up and sent off to the prison
But it'll be worth the sentence of life
If from my mind your memory is missing

511

If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in *****—
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—

If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land.

If certain, when this life was out—
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—

But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state—its sting.

~~
Then, if ever, is the red color grows fade
The petals of red roses drop
If the birds don't sing any songs
And even a butterfly doesn't
Play on a purple flower

If the mistake happens in the rain
You 'll not cry
You can't be afraid of thunder
They will cleanse you

And when I am gone
Forgive me, but the melody in the air
You will come, playing in the garden,
Dance with the lost grasshoppers

Any yellow day when red flamboyant will be bloomed
Will have to take off your colorful sunglasses
At the very noon will be floated on the Cuckoo's love song
Again and Again it will prove your arrival,

O' Spring

You'll be the very white sky after rain
Will bloom red hibiscus
On that gilded day  
Red flamboyant 'll be loved with yellow flamboyant

Patched up with melody and words
Will be made new Songs,
New Poetry,
With the yellow flowers tune

Then again,
You 'll not  sing a song of despair,
Not even a song of hiatus,
Will sing the Songs of Joy,
Stir in the way of dreams,
Mating

Back to again and again
I 'll come back to you
Both 'll make a love  
For the creation of a new life
~~