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Bongha Lee Sep 27
You were the Japanese Denim
And I the Parisian Oxford
Bubbling in old polaroid, in suits and dress
Like bachelors at a jazz bar

Each note flourished into a riverbed of roses.  
Gentle raindrops on a red, turquoise rug,
Your golden arms and marvels,
And you pulled my necktie and kissed me,
Where the balcony was kind.
A breeze of Lalique, O woman, and a beardless me.
Une nuit sensationnelle!

“Remember the bar maid and the butcher boy?
Tattered dirt road wagon on the moor?
A ship of napkins and a house of cards?
The rags, the stains, and the stinks?”
Let us lift our grail, the Destiny’s gift
And celebrate our nuclear, indestructible love
Une nuit cérémonieuse!

Your royal Bachelorette, my lady,
I will chisel your name in the celestial body
To make this glorious night immortal
With this new ballad, my bootless cries.
A candle to me, a candle to you
For our dauntless youth, our pride.
Till the raven finds my eyes hollow,
Withered, frayed, and lone
My silver crown will bellow in the dark
To your name
Une nuit spectrale!
Your comments will be appreciated
Bongha Lee May 1
If I could take a brush and paint the moors and the celeste aquamarine
I would splash the hillsides black and daub the sky in deep mazarine.
Except an earthly corner with firepit, where
Five pieces of zelkova in a barrel tin can covered with rust
Five failures wishing the nocturnal eternity in delightful gust
So we drink like kings, like sultans, like Irish pundits of joy

Cuckoo, Cuckoo

Scops owl rhythmically hooting at night so gentle
Then we cuss and urinate in the air ornamental
The smoke follows the handsome, they said.
Dionysus traveled to the ancient East thine night
Beautiful it is, though we see nothing but our faces dimly bright

A farewell to the good ol’days. Our only days!
Salute to fathers sleeping late for better days!
So long!
So long!
Please critique it if necessary
Bongha Lee May 1
There was an armless man biking on an empty street,
When the bell tolled at the midnight hour.
Between the emaciated ribs had stench diabolical
Everyone called him crazy.
A phantom of the city, he is. Perhaps, death himself.
A trail of breath. Ragged bandages barely hid his nakedness.  
Burnt was his hollow eye. Disfigured was his nose.
Like a disgraced soldier refusing to come home.  
Man, said who? How terribly mistaken!
The boy was only twelve!

Through a broken glass window of a beat-up car
Saw three whisperers an army of fanatics of midnight chase,
Blaring red and no blue.
“Why y’all here, brother?”
“Innocence. Innocence only”
They ain’t here to catch us. Too many. They are here to **** us.
Bullet holes on the car doors, motionless organic bodies
Blood on the concrete and
Silence, after all!
A foreign couple walked on the street.
BAMM! The fallen! A suicide!
No, it was the poor armless boy!
Help! For God’s sake, Help!
Curtains closed, yellow rooms unlit  
And nobody gave a single ******* look.
Please critique it if necessary. Kindly.
Bongha Lee Apr 30
After a pint left foams,
I ripped out of the old tavern into
A torn indigo overcoat and aged leather hat,
And traveled under the porticoes of a billion fantastic shadows
To celebrate this marvelous November night.

O glory, I danced with Muse in circle, whistling the Irish,
And galled the gods,
Avec un plaisir de génie, for my peripatetic existential.
Cold air filled my lungs with marvelous love so clear,
I, disappeared.

A pocket change rolling, bikes uninhabited, and lampposts perpetual.
A rolled cigarette wantonly leaned between my sticky lips.
Autumnal dews wetted my forehead like spiriting wine.
And while, scarf blowing, boots tattered,  
I raised my odalisque eyes heavenward
The world pixelated above my moist eyes
Like a seabed of jewelry stars
Please critique this.

— The End —