“I have loved you so much that I believe I understand you a little.”
Marcel Proust

we are wearing our glowing skins
full of unwoven whispers
or au contraire
we’ll have worn them
-who knows
in poetry, not in theory,
anything is possible-

one of us could say
“take this animal
out of my eyes, teeth, bones
for wild flowers
to grow in my sockets”
and I’ll say:
“for my eyelids to rest
in the shadow of your breath
and my vertigo, indigo
in the nest of your palm"

-words are just riverbeds-

see you - the sea in me
at the echo point
of blood

I’ll wear rivers
lipstick
bluebirds

in this poem of touching
every cell is spinning
its nucleus of *numinosum
while the day breaks open
into the heart of trees

-words are stones of silence,
unintelligible altars-

I was in love
with a vertigo man
last time I checked

blood has its madness

~~
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
~~

I am ashamed that I am Spanish because of Franco
I am ashamed that I am French because of Algeria
I am ashamed that I am Algerian because of France
I am ashamed that I am American because of Bush, Iraq
and the bloodshed once among brothers
I am ashamed that I am Russian because of Stalin, Gulag
and recently of this and that
I am ashamed that I am German because of ******, clearly
(Pol *** appears more and more seldom in the lists, but one is horrified, humanly ashamed, remembering)
I am ashamed that I am English because of football etc
I am ashamed that I am Polish — only when I am not proud
I am ashamed that I am Turkish, but then there are Kurds...
I am ashamed that I am Czech and allowed myself to be stifled

(I am just as ashamed myself — some say, who feel
shame in its extremity and hide weapons in pantries, waiting for that moment
in which they wash away their shame with the blood of traditional enemies)
I am ashamed that I am Orthodox or Catholic and I wedge and split
the mountain on which Jesus bled — before others made even smaller
pieces out of his Golgotha below
I am ashamed that I am Indian because... well, it’s no matter
I am ashamed that being Macedonian I let the Greeks be even more
I am ashamed that I am Korean and one of Kim Ir Sen’s
I am ashamed that I am Korean no matter where, as long as
Kim Ir Sen’s Koreans remain
I am ashamed that I am Serbian, but... let me think
I am ashamed that I am Chinese because: ‘You’re Chinese?’
I am ashamed that I am Romanian because of Ceausescu, Dracula of course

and now, God, all these Romanians all over the world...
I am ashamed of my nation even when I am not ashamed
— but each of us seeks to forget something
I am ashamed because .......... [Everyone: fill in the blanks, write yours here!]

but you, but you — you, only you
you, whose nation filled the desolate earth with life and kindness
you are the man who begins the new day
today
with your first step

*Ioana Ieronim

don't rob this moment of its nakedness
better distill words
to the strength of this feeling
don't touch the sleep of children
future might turn back in rage
it's majestic
the way temples are erected
inside mitochodria
it happens unintentionally
Borges said it
beauty as a physical sensation
never mind being wiped out
new roots/fingers/words will grow
in your wrath
the vibration of thousand mornings
will not suffice it
(don't confuse pleasure with beauty
or make up with follow up)
if god were a sensate being
I would kneel
in front of a sea with no paths
I cannot explain
what the consistency
of your bones
means to me
there is no way
more simple than this:
what if beauty
is?

The excess raindrops
get louder
with every open window
like you become
more tantalizing
with every cheap tile
you cross over
with your ashamed
feet
in those miserable
hallways
And you know as well
as I do
that it is not easy
having a sentimental,
earthly element
remind you of
where you wanted
your last breath
to be raked from
the blood and
the gray
that would have
been soaked into
soil
before anyone noticed.

I'm not.

My Dad thinks I should
be out burning bras
showing off unshaved legs
parading through the streets "like the gays."

I do not.

I remember talking in highscool
about my imaginary rich husband,
and never working again.

                                                My Dad does not.

He remembers panicking in hischool
telling me not to be a cheerleader
asking "why can't girls play on he football team?"

                                  My Dad does not realize,

I don't want to burn my
Victoria's Secret push up bra,
I want to shave my legs.

My dad thinks
the only person who
can decide whether
or not
to keep a baby
is a woman.

I do not.

A baby-life
is created by a
man and a woman.

It should take a
man and a woman to decide.

                               My Dad does not realize it,

He thinks I am a product of
the patriarchy,
a victim to the crime.

but,

I don't want to
march down the streets of Boston,
****.

Because I know some women,
cry **** when its a lie.

I know some men,
who cant cry
for help,
because **** is a woman's issue.

                    My Dad does not realize it hurts,

because
I am not a feminist,
I am an equalist.

I believe in
mutual respect,
choice,
balance.

Stay at home moms
and
Stay at home dads.

   My dad does not realize it hurts the cause to be a "feminist"

My dad is a feminist,
I am not.

How could we explain our plight
to someone who's a stranger
when they can see so clearly
how we put ourselves in danger.

Of course we feel anxiety
and struggle with the doubt,
for we could die on this journey
but at least we're getting out.

And out, is our priority,
out, is what we strive.
Getting out is probably
what keeps us all alive.

Because if this was not an option
and we could not at least try
we might as well just dig a grave
and lie down and wait to die.

So we pay malignant couriers
to float us out to sea,
we take this dangerous consequence
and what will be, will be.

Our journey is horrific
and many of us die,
but the alternative to staying here
is the reason that we try.