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 Mar 2013 Kam Yuks
Ugo
burn the light of fire
and wax the ears of injustice.

chide the moon
and bid ado to the reckless sun.

count the blessings of misfortunes
and wave verbs in the air--
breathing the hopeful breaths of married sandals

Label the pains of a billion rain drops and fawn the feathers
of a nightingale over the glory of failed
triumphs known as yesterday.

break the hands of a wristwatch and make a ******* of time--
for through the God in Satan was how Earth was won.
Spending intangible dollars at the mercy of my ever growing appetite,
Instead of buying my ticket out of this perfectly advantageous country,
Which focuses solely on my beauty and money.
I neglect my inner advice telling me to drop it all and run,
To where I can breathe and focus on God,
Promoting a healthier way of living and improving humanity.
Momentary hope that unrealistically characterizes perfection
As a quality that I can mentally download and miraculously make the above, true,
Never seems to linger long enough to actually induce action,
Which leads to disappointment draining the motivation essential to recover my missing pieces,
Which pushes me to crave cash I don’t have, to pick up that dose,
That hushes the unwarranted guilt that seduces me into thinking that I’m not incredibly blessed,
And that I can’t handle what I’ve been dealt,
Blurs the doubts I have about my abilities, my self- worth,
Forcing me into a state of content that awakens my creativity,
While vaguely being able to make out memories of let down led by myself and my mother,
Who was a part of what was never good enough for my idea of a perfect family.
I’ve wrongly accepted that a mediocre life-performance is to be had while following the crowd,
While obsessing over flaws that are negligible to my true purpose in life,
And with that I’ve become stifled by the decision to remain effortlessly stuck.
 Jan 2013 Kam Yuks
Beth C
It's fourth grade recess,
I'm standing behind the white chalk lines
drawn onto the asphalt,
watching other kids win.

Some nameless ten-year-old
with curly red hair and shiny black shoes
is telling me about blood—
If it never touches the air
it is blue as the ocean.
I've never seen an ocean
and I believe him anyway.

Years pass,
and I'm still standing
behind someone else’s chalk lines.
I've long since passed biology
graduated from fairy tales,
though sometimes,
late at night
I still imagine blue blood
pumping in my arms,
curling lazily under my fingertips.
I've seen the ocean now
and I know better than to believe anything.

It's years later,
and I'm drawing my own chalk lines
across the mirror over the sink,
staring into myself.
I know better, I do,
but I imagine that my blue eyes
are filled up with blue blood.
If I cry hard enough,
I will stain my cheeks with cobalt
and the chalk will crumble against my face,
leaving stars burnt out and lost
in the sea of blue.

And the whole world will know
that I've seen the ocean,
the whole world will understand
that I bled myself dry.
A bit rough, suggestions appreciated.

— The End —