tectonic beams of golden rays
sweltering showers of sunsets say
beckon, really, sprouting delicate fingers
catch me
and I sink in the powdery white sand
toes slipping under chilly frothy seas
a striking reminiscent glint into fray
music resounding in ear drums fractured
pieces scattered by the sound of their laughter
chase after the receding glimpse
feeling the love sprouting from counting
the time takes flight across the seas
as if there is no tomorrow to seize
sprint, scream into the petrifying waters
the waves crash to your knees
threatening to buckle from underneath
it's now kissing your hips
and swallowing the tenderness
of my throat,
thrash hands into the light
the sinking sun, glistening blood orange, bites
its ghost glistening on the binding waves
catch me to treasure these figments you call yours
and maybe I can't swim fast enough
the ocean swallowing me whole
and this will haunt me forever
knowing what I once had
will never forever be mine

the brushes lay flat
scattered across the yawning table
my canvases scattered, paint incomplete
like the thoughts which fall
from my head in repeat,
I pace the studio
the beloved safe haven
the place where I can be my own
the place where I can cry alone
the paints just glimmer
my fingers cringe at their shimmer
I sit in my studio,
staring at the blank scenes
knotting my hands, twisting my fingers
my heart has lost the appetite
of such delicate vigor
the rain glints in the darkening sky
the windows plastered with darkness
I can't see anything for the being
yet I sit and try
something is not right
it must be a new night
--a new flight--
that must be why

Blue shadows slither uphill
The sun smothers behind the glade
Of trees--
                A barrier,
A fortification to the wounded kinks
                 In my chest

The silent vowels which breathes
Upon every current of pollen-carried breeze
The red,
                A lovely, dark malevolent glare
Which seeps into the soil at my feet
And top the soil like sprinkles of
                Ruby dew drops  

The grazing glance of blue--
Blue of the midnight,
              Blue of wild, turmoil waves
Crashed  
              Rolling
                         Thundering
Which creep to my feet
Gusted by the pillar of trees

I sit still with knees held to my chest
Pondering at the beating against walls
Walls I refused to breach before

The drumming--
                        The unprecedented humming
Which rattle into the marrow of my bones
And echo, traveling the hollow curves
Snaking--
                Spiraling--
So that voices may carry
And whisper in my ear

This pulsing streak  
Radiates into the folds of my limbs
And I cannot possibly catch my breath
                 Waiting to catch,
                             Waiting to listen,
Waiting for something to happen

After years of silent of calls
                  Years of fortified smiles
Just to break the fall

One day,
            Maybe this day
It is time to

Sitting on the glossy bed of grass
Smells enriched by the scorch of suns and brass
The joy--
           The ecstasy--
To feel the stones crack
Break the wall created to deprive

And as the midnight blue
Shimmy onto my toes
             And travel up my feet--
Over my head,
             Tying a knot in my hair,

The dew drops twinkle
Now like pebbles of obsidian
And the field of green
               Is now an expanse of black

Where have I gone?

sleeping snugged in the crook
where sunlight beams without retrospect
a promise chafing while the tempest surges
scouring the hillside where mountains climb nigh

a moments breath held askew
salmon pink and beading mildew
meeting to cool the burning wound
as howl made flesh and skin crawl

just promised, a promise chastened
in a wooden oak chocolate box
buried in the steep ribcage of the earth
where the mind begins to lurk

feel the hand tremble to life
the awesome power, impeccable brilliance
sloping figures roughed into the earth
giving into the imagination of another night

and here, come along here
where the brain is turned ripe
and light gives way to blooming forage
never to be left alone

come along here

the clash of frightful teeth
the piercing gaze of defeat
how the barbel encloses tightly
to the path which holds truth,
on the run, feet set in panic
the labored breathing and
knots rattling in our rib cages,
coming along we balance the cup
and try, try we must
to keep the warmth
from spilling into abyss,
yet always, like always
our clothes get snagged,
our hearts put into relapse
at every attempt to leap
over the intertwined barbel,
so difficult to face the stones,
the pebbles skipped across the waters,
the ripple of those reflections
the desperation to hold on,
yet never, never we know
always standing on the other side
watching the stones skip away
and hearing our own lives pass away,
the barbel cuts into our skins
and dear, dear it hurts so much
wondering for the entirety of our hearts
and the sands of our entity

the ceaseless snow fall
abundant delicacies
upon a butterfly's wings
moment's rippling events
cascading grey quarries
across ticking dimensions,
shuddering shoulders
upsetting laughter,
clasp that tiny blade
inside your makeshift
home thereafter,
beating winds
clashing swords
a draining bath
where you soaked
all those memories
like whiplash,
that turmoil substance
gushing out
a teetering notion
all this wordy banter
the music spawned the start
the one inaudible
on this rotating globe
just know better things
are soon to be

I close my eyes
And the ache recedes through
These words lop-side, so distantly, unknowingly
Into increasing, massive
Space

My mind reverberates
With the echoes of memories
And with every blink through time
All is lost in increasing, massive
Space

The curves of this pen
And the ink left behind
My conscience pruned into lost corners,
My presence grows faint

And I am left staring through
The remnants of my artifacts
And all that is left is increasing, massive
Space

a secrecy worn
like fabrics of warmth
articulate abbreviate hurts and scorns
so that the day may be comfy and soft

shadow cloak smudging those vowels
anything that may howl
so it may not wake our minds
we have blanked out in kind

and as the jitter and glitter
fades in moonlight casts grey
our insecurities scattered like glass
how our mouths refuses to swallow

The flooding of golden light
The murmur of crisp blue
Glinting like those marvelous
Icebergs chilling in the sights
Soon the light ceases to glint
And the hues deepens so that
Only the tree tops in brisk evenings
And towering sloping peaks
Reach out to chance a dancing feat
With the fleeting gazes of mourning  blue

as we drown before the florescent glow
of the lampshade sticky ****
and the ache washes over
the back of our heads
the soreness in our eye socket

books are propped and buried
deep in our faces
in the adolescent curve of noses
the smell of intelligence is supposed to waft
the scent of future and brightness,
the scent of bigger ambition

yet instead stench of synthetic obligations
tingle through the tunnel of our nostrils
and lingers in the back of our skulls
cloudy, sharp, confusing and mean
it bites my friend, it bites

the sound of pencil scratching on paper
keyboards clicking away
and mouths whitened from strenuous furrow
feel the bag underneath the eye
sag and droop, weakened and drained

feel the emptiness
the emptiness in purpose
shoved to drive us on
the dollar bills will not shaft well, my friend
if you don't meet our obligations,
and so they say

yet let me tell you
let me speak for you
the creamy glance of yellow light
which shafts across the wall of brick
the isles of easels mounted with canvases
pulled taught and hiding its willowy smile

let me tell you
how my heart flutters at the creak of floorboard
how my fingers handle the spine of brushes
and how paper speaks for itself
the studio plastered with splatters of whirling colors
the dusty smell of vast, open space
the echo of imagination reverberating into
seeds of exploration

let me tell you
how my eyes wander across the soft succulent surfaces
the worn golden door handle
the prickly screech of a hinge
the chalky scratch of charcoal
and the rows of inking presses
waiting to compress the next
monograph etches and linoleum spur

let me tell you,
to those who frown
to those who squint their ugly faces
to those who denied
let me tell you,
I would belong
than rather be replaced

brisk, waning scent
of another scorching summer
fallen to an end
gallantly, it slips
behind the
farthest mountains
and the sky opens up
like a cracked egg
with the yellow yolk
deep-set orange
and swimming on the peaks,
light rain which drizzles
and softly kisses the pavement
leaving steam to roll through
the campus grounds,
another ordinary night
of a summer gone,
a burnt out light
cracked open,
like the way lips
can suddenly spill
with brilliant night

Pale, smooth skin a moonlight kin
Pale luminescent sheer subtle like pearls
Crackling laughter like pebbles
Skipping over rippling lake shore
Big round, cerulean eyes
Boundless leagues sea scape horizon
Drinking in the sight of the heavens
Cheeks soft and cool salmon pink
Lone stretched shadow rippling
Over blades of glass soft to the touch
His lips upturned crescent soft spoken
Laden with a story waiting to unfold
Trembling yet still to the marrow
Thinking about nothing at all

Cascading torrents of flower petals
Rose golds and melody pastels
Sending gazes utterly transfixed
To the touch of ivory memory
With my feet in the air
And a head no where to be found
Hands transcended into a ***
Of earth and dark cool soil
The base of the flower
I picked the petals off of

note to self

avoid laying down
my eyes begin to tire
head hang heavy
thoughts run empty
before I get
*any work done

My mother, you see, dresses in armor
as if war waged everyday
her mind is a catapult
her expression contours
and her teeth jeers
at the end of the day she'll say, mo wakata?

sorry mother, not today

her bones juts and creaks
her body worn from strains of life
her wobbly, crooked knees strike one another
with every feeble step in strife

her cheeks cascade like eery angular cliffs
and a crow's nest of hair, wiry and black
tumbles down her head
mother, what can I do for you?

Born in Japan
and now married to a foreign land
in hands of a backwards society
who merely acts like jesting skeptics  
they treat her family as a minority
for what?

they whisper, look at her dark squinting eyes
tiny, wiry stature
and no-nonsense attitude
no, she's not cruel
she just knows better than most

but they'll never take time to look at her
or listen to her when she speaks
and at the end of the day she says , mo wakata?
I'm afraid I do not
okasan, gomennasai I say

yet grateful, I am, for the same angular eyes
wiry hair and handsome ethnicity
your iron will strives me to go farther, deeper
to explore ever crook, every
perk of what it is to be alive
I am starting to see life
with the same air of humility  

yet on those diamond occasions
when your fingernails sting of dirt
and poignant flowers barricade
the cold mess beyond
a garden of delicateness embedded in every touch
and moving with Asian maternity
stone paths weaves through
fabric of nature's vanity

her love is etched within the soil
I see her stooped body
outside my window
as she tends her garden
and at the end of the day, when she says mo wakata?

hai, mo wakata, okasaan I say

life is not a battle
but the will not to wilt away
and as you care your garden relentlessly
you were, in fact, caring for me

every flower planted in soil
no matter rain or grey smoky skies
it spreads its lovely petals
and remembers to drink in the sun
even if there is not a sun
to drink in

Never again will I change for anybody.

Maybird, today you thought
Today you thought
But I think not
On whether you dwelt long on that thought

Maybird, a sublime spring
A sprinkle of blue
A shower of roses
Today you have thought

A clinking of ice in glass lemonade
A rush of waxy pollen
You thought, today, Maybird
And I thank you for that

sitting in place very, very still,
underneath the glimmer of the sky,
the liberals have arrived so don’t try to think,
I keep the strum of ruined heartstrings and pluck to a gateway bliss,
we all live and swim through sickness of strife as misfits,
pursue the gawking geese careening in the big blue sky,
look there, there we all point to the everlasting feast
the sheer of pretty pink and dripping orange marmalade skips a beat
I squeeze my knuckles so they go white, spending hours in the bright light,
oh how my lungs yearn for the touch of cold, cold sky breath,
caress the dazzling light which pierces through a curtain of death,
yet everyday spinal chords whistle out of tune
and painted carriers go out and dig out those buried runes,
so before falling, I look into irises and their missed faces
Yet, I only end up scratching the slippery opaque surfaces,
and those heartstrings render and contort, visions passing over the horizon
and those smudges of graphite I use to write are frightened,
leaving traces in the music I must have mistaken
as my own