Again, the face that passes me

With the same care-worn fatigue

His lips are pursed, dark burgundy

His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky

Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared

He and I, we work hard, for a promotion

I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires

Summer steals his memory

woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path

He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee

I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows

The sun catches them, clip their wings

He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles

When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent

I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare

Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat

Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms

He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window

I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday

So it ends. Life

After I heard your Good News. I said —
I had to step out.
My chest heaves.

Left everything inside.
Passport. ID. Savings.

I said: Wait, I will be back soon.

Eyes said. You broke my heart.
Everything is yours.
Do with them whatever you please.

You don’t get it. You smiled.
I can’t wait for tomorrow. You said.
I said: Sure tomorrow.

Do you not see the cracks in my smile.
The fissures of where it’s broken.
Inside my wrinkles of two decades chasing, now lost.

Step out into the cutting air
Step in out of breath in my car in a weather so fair
Tears slithering past sniveling grovel ground
I use everything I own
to buy a ticket for Elsewhere

I lived like nothing. Eating scraps.
Days clone into nights.
I dreamt of nothing.
Bug bites and frosts rise.

A good news it is.
So it goes, I left
Haven’t turned back for twenty years.

You come back to me in dashes
Fractured sun streams
Gregorian chants
I say.

I said.

America, land of the free
Is it wild sarcasm or exclusive pedigree?
Things are getting better
Certainly it is for you
But what about your neighbors
Things will get better
Said street walkers collect loot and spoils
All you ever want is money, designer bags
As bystanders gazed in cold blood
What is eternal is never owned

My years as an outsider has shown me:
To love even if it is unrequited
To question incessantly
To see the humans inside the systems
To never take Truth for granted
What makes America great?
I’m saying it not to flatter or frame
Why did so many immigrants rush in?

It‘s not what the ‘has been’, the ‘is’ that matter
It’s the ‘can be’, the ´will be’, the ‘shall be’
The Dream, the Pride, the Fearless
The organizers, activists, writers, artists
Grassroots, gathered for a common good
The pearls of blaze unstrung from the Statue’s torched hand
East to West, ideas spun and in good faith, left human wills to run
As long as you chase down the horizon, track down the rails of Apollonian glory
There in Liberty you shall be found

I exist; morning oasis,

Counting down to the new year.

Insomnia hits.

All- Nighter.

Writing, reading until dawn.

I can't sleep, voices.

: )

I talk, I laugh,

why am I here, how did I become-

Darkness pools. Scars of light.

I rose into the earth.

: )

I'm fine, happy

what do you mean?

No, that really is me.

I pulled my teeth out.

: )

Have you seen loneliness? With dark circular eyes.

This red air smells sickeningly sweet.

Limbs over there, like my store bought lilies,

freshly cut.

: )

What is sad is this,

that you're forever happy,

forever right, forever free,

in the shadows,

beneath your sightless dreams

: )

Regrets litter in my soul as I look back

Papers and pens that made my eyes gag

This is the road I choose

A trail where works and study suffuse

This is the life I abuse

A desk of overload books and a head with no amuse

Should I sell my life to marriage, to money, to fame

Or should I work dignified until my hair turns to grey flames

I did nothing as my life is reduced

I accuse myself of living the harder way

Of peeling away my youth when the mind cannot sway



I never will be like those on the island of green

They were steps ahead before we came to be

So life must go on and I would swallow down pain

Palming other's sins, sparing no grin.

But would it have been better, is it the best way,

I work with erased antenna for medals harsh to the taste.



My head tells me to move on,

But my heart convinces me otherwise.

I used to love statues, too.

Their perfect outlines, the curves of their shapes

the edges of their bodies.

Those were the popular ones.

I used to love statues with my walls down

and my heart bare.

I worshiped them like a state of being,

a mindset, a world of advertisements and brands.

They were a popular bunch.

So I broke my heart over one and the other,

the statues without names, androids with no feelings,

I shed my tears upon their coiled stone hair,

Calluses formed where I touched their fingers with my own.

Greeks and Romans praised them,

and forever their unfeeling cold stare gazed into mine

Before I realize the God that is not embedded in

granite, sediment, or marble

But only an idol made from words and other animal’s bones.

It all came flashing to me, most blindly

The moments we could be

The lake reflects the memories we could create

The mirror reflects the wonders this world would never see.



But I have been foolish once again,

Because I am not capable of job, I swear

My limbs crestfallen with burdens,

My hairs chained down with headaches,

My eyebrows down-casted with grey.

You would be better without me. So I let you be.



But if I were to see you, it would all come back to me,

The doubts programmed in my past

The self-hate, the despair, the trap

The choices that I believed

were to be your destiny and my map.



I hope our paths shall never cross again,

I crossed my fingers and crossed my heart.

In the crux of my soul a song sprang forth:

retrograde on its descent of another universe,

As you and I take a different course.

My heart died before me,
so They bury my thoughts in
with the worms in the ground.

As the first nail shuts the lid,
I gained my consciousness.
I gazed into the impenetrable darkness
of that ancient and complete fear.

A chill burns along my nerves' edges,
As my thoughts clash against my teeth,
of all those words I have not said
I could have said I should have said to you.

As soils shift in and rain seep through
These words rattle in my throat
while you are already away,
thinking not of me.

Blood draining and eyes dilating,
I found new strength in the splinters
of torn skin-- breaking in--
into a world that wants me not

Reborn into a languor of midnight rain,
there I see you kneeling--
eyes teeming with hatred, regret, agony

So we pulled each other in
as the mantle layers above

centuries past, heavens frown,
grounds encased
were our Love in Amber,
our story on parchments,
our hearts pressed
in sedimentary stones.

There is a shift in the air
        a divergent current, before an
              outpouring of shredded clouds.

                                   There is a difference
                             in the air
                                    said our reflections,
                                             irises caught in thin veins.

           There are creases upon my dried conscience
                  the sadness tears out of my eyes
                                       Threading my past memories
                              into cycles of fallacies.

                                         Yes, it must be something in the air
                                               the air we both grew up in
                                                 the breaths we smeared upon
                                                          birthday candles months apart.

                                                         ­            We had the same troubles,
                                                                   corresponding doubles,
                                                        ­    the same ventilation of lungs.

               Then the past settled, we grew up
                            our face darkened,

                          So I let out a flash of laughter
                                                your hissing thoughts closely pursuing it
                                                              ­       like two strands of lighting
                    Perforating the piers of my gut
Sure to switch off
                                           My Volatile Heart.

In her dream,
She was drinking latte in an unknown country,
when the man approached her,

my wife hates you, he said,
you have to pay extra for the coffee.
She had to go,
for fear of the jealousy in his wife's eyes,
because of everything she had.

She has always been privileged,
The princess of a rich kingdom.
The precious one in the family.

Occasionally she heard bad news,
about women in other countries,
but surely, she thought,
they were too violent to be true.

Then she's walking down the street,
newly paved, the king's pride
a group of girls and middle-aged men
gathered in the town square.

A girl's arm reached out from the car window,
She took it, their fingers briefly unite,
before the girl's head was split by a knife.

The streets were saturated with red things,
The girls were murdered one by one,
while she watched, helpless.

Then she felt a hand tightening behind
the back of her head,
In her dream, she became one of the girls,
She's no different from them.

Always at that point, she woke up.
What's wrong, he asked, you were paralyzed with fear.
I had the most lucid and helpless dream, she'd reply.

But surely it must be a dream,
It's too violent to be true
or is it she's sleeping now,
oblivious to anything?

The bed breathed deeply.
The furnitures covered with
your luminescent fingerprints.
The silverware died slowly,
in the grey sink.
The house tried to talk to me/

I was afraid to step out,
Outside the sympathy of my house.
Into the streets spilled with
people of your asymmetric eyes
My house tried to talk to me.

I now have nobody left to lose,
As I lay on the carpet with a sense of sooth,
The chandelier finally sang its vocal cord loose,
The wires looped instinctively like prehistoric noose.
My house tried to talk to me.

Then I know I am not alone,
The house teems with your pulse,
The glass splits from echo of your voice.
The house tells me so.

I broke through the door,
torn away from the umbilical cord of my solitude.
Melted through the heat of the cheering multitude.
My house tells me, taking care of each word.

My house tells me,
I am not alone,
And you will always
be with me in spirit only.

Blown away sorrows,
Seep through pillows,
Was I mad was I sad
When I came with no “hi”s
And left with no “goodbye”s

The place is close by,
But I walk back I drive past
I duck away to avoid pests of regrets

Never able to cut open
The memories endeared
In its own empty crust.

So I look toward future with lust
Afraid of the going back
Afraid of the circling into myself
Fastened into idealized past.

Nobody ever come back this way,
Nothing ever stay the same,
None ever let their sentiments sway,
Not my fights not my thoughts not my defeats
not even me.

Black                                              |             ­                                           Blue
it is the start of new things
as I walk down the debris
of firecrackers and snow
expectant like color black           |
                                                               ­                I shop around with ashes
                                                        |                   pilling inside me the sky a
                                                               ­              hyacinth blue and the lake
                                                                ­           a stale grey that hibernates.
Then I smiled.                               |
                                                               ­     I sobbed within the color blue.  
I feel rich with the presence
of you like starlit boulevard that
stretches beyond my neon nails.
                                                         |­    I am famished with your absence,
                                                                ­    as stars shatter away I began to
                                                                ­                      live in the past when
                                                            ­             I have not known anything.
You will always be there              |
clothed solemn black
before the coming of spring.

                                                         |     ­             You were buried in white,
                                                            before the winter begins to settle in.
What a wonderful time it is--
as I wait for tomorrow
                                                         |        What a horrifying moment it is
                                                              ­         as I search for my yesterdays.

He is looking at me in frustration,
I failed him once again.
Should chosen a business concentration,
Should have given up a dream of magnificence.

I never play volleyball like other girls,
I was too rough to sit down and be a lady,
I was banned from skateboarding and basketball,
Math was not for girls but I won every time.

But all my efforts have been tried in vain,
As I stumbled in my tomboy skin.
For to him, everything I do will be pointless,
every rebellion is to him yelling in pink.

Colorate surfaces of her skin,
Signature forevers on his violin.

from      time        to      time
there is     a romance      of being       alone
   the     imaginations       she  powdered
                                 generously    upon the   colorless  reality.
      metaphors   that  she sews    upon the   sleeves
                         of     melancholy.
her girlfriends   and she    roamed
                 the    ups  and     downs of the  earth,
while their        mothers screamed
                                    for   them      to be ladylike.
     saturday afternoons,
they   procrastinated    upon   pastries and     honey
                 crystallized           fairy      tales
courteous     animals
                                 riding on the      coattail of      dreams
      a lighthearted                feeling    others tried to      snooze.

they    observe things         through glitters    of their vapor.
    they   dote on the    humor of ice    creams
                       and sunlight       of   scarlet pink.
    as we    laugh    with charm,
                                            what a    way   with words,
                 a   lopsided    smile,
a      head    of   curls,
                                        a    flock     of  girls.

--this life is a fibre-
--entwined within wires of an universal software-

--these eyes are conditioned to see-
--the networks of automated screens-

--these ears were robotic-
--programmed to listen to social expectations-

--this nose will be an animation-
--sniffing through the scent of anonymity-

--this mouth is charged to repeat-
--the oil of toxic lies and false beliefs-

--this head was controlled by a circuit of words-
--with fillings of violence and screams-
--pursuing a future that never will be-

The moments shattered by the cameras,
The lights transpired beneath your fleeting smile,
       A lone car shoot through city’s Auroras,
Dilated moons chant cycles of your spell.

Engineered through time and space lies us all,
You on the conveyor belts of highways,
Whose lives fall out of synch without a call,
Blurred by their fingerprints our future days.

May life digest you slowly, feed the graves,
Shall you return, gasoline infused in my veins,
Fluorescent street lights outline things we crave,
You could offer in your palm for fast lanes.

Like a piece of code no one would ever solve,
Or were they shocked by the electricity of this love.

He loves her
With the violence
Of his pride.

He once told me,
She would be better
Had she been a man.

As much as
I love him,
It was by far
The harshest thing,
He has ever said
about her.

Speckled with dust,
Checkered with rust,
                                                                ­  My shoes bravely take the steps.
Some kicked upon the grass,
Some taken to the last mass,
Some dangled during the class,
                                                       then the sassy ones I took to the dance,
                                                        peering over your shoes my true love.
They whisper secretly at night,
Guard us as we roam in our dreams.
                                                      I wish you would stay with me tonight,
                                                                like my left shoe cradles my right.
Shine, my shoes!
                                                             Tell them the places we conquered;
                                                              Re­count the troubles we ventured;
                                                       The money and youth we squandered.
                                                        
Look down the ground and admire each shoe,
Every one knows the life we've been through.

Open your eyes for a dose of oxygen,
Smell a world with tears and spice,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

You sleep with your fast growing collagen,
Recovering the jet-lag of the unknown I surmise,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

Yet to come the tag that latches on to your origin,
when living each day has its invaluable price,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

Will you belong to the cigarettes and scent of gin,
Or shall I see you chase dreams left to their own device,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

There might be peace or violence had here you been,
You could be a well-built fortune or a random dice,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

And I am witnessing this, without sorrow or grin,
Wonder, distress and an expired love that will suffice.
Open your eyes for a dose of oxygen,
Whose child is this down the doorstep.

In nighttime living creatures fell dead asleep by herds |
I alone am an orphan to the darkness and the candlelight |
And my dreams depart for whimsical lands with the migratory birds |

Under the roofs people sleep with their eyes shut tight |
All the dramas of daily life locked down their windows |
I alone am an orphan to the darkness and the candlelight |

Here my imagination took its feathery flight |
Between these shadows of empty cul-de-sac |
All the dramas of daily life locked down their windows |

The moon steals out the stories in inspiration’s sack |
Here with my dreams, desires, and depressions out of sight |
Between these shadows of empty cul-de-sac |

Improvisation opened his iridescent lips for a bite |
My melatonin ignites the fire within the constellations |
Here with my dreams, desires, and depressions out of sight |

Legends, myths, and superstitions find me with consternations |
In nighttime living creatures fell dead asleep by herds |
My melatonin ignites the fire within the constellations |
And my dreams depart for whimsical lands with the migratory birds|

This melody keep stuck in my mind,
Weaving its way into my memories.
Each note shine for someone else,
When I look back years from now.
The words all break free of their meanings,
Only the music live on with incoherent alcohol.
My life is made of songs,
As I tread
                 My
                       Way
                              Onto
                                     The
                                           Stage
                                                     Of
                                                          Cacoph­ony.

There is a wishing well where I live,
filled with coins down the bottom,
some are shiny, some old, some rusting into the water.
Circles of copper, silver, aluminum and gold.
Here I will take a bet,
throw my first quarter into the pond,
There it falls with a bubbly thud.
Day by day I will sit by it, murmur a silent prayer,
Doing nothing as the sun set.
So when the dawn comes,
I will get exactly the opposite
of what I wished for,
My coin lost among the thousands,
In this miraculous wishing well.

Tribute to Conrad Roy III (of the Michelle Carter case)

He said he felt small,
Like a particle with a pointless future.
She texted the time has come,
Go inside and **** yourself.
In this lonely parking lot.
Words never seem so poisonous.
Couple sentences a new life cost.
Look toward the direction
Technology and evil have taken us.

It is hard to find the light,
To be oneself.
It is easy to retreat into darkness,
To be someone else.

Hanging by the hinge of your last lies. /
Throwing out the legacy of our cremated honesty. /
Counting shoots by the destiny’s thighs. /

Let's start all over like them celebrity, \
All from the right angle and places. \
After we lied in the face of eternity, \
Selling our ways to the illegal graces. \

Next just need some bullet proof toes, |
Running near the fire range as wars start to cease.|
Be content with your diamonds sewn into our teeth. |
On the way to dirt ditches honoring souvenirs from Satan. |

Yet I promise you on the way up we annoyed the Angels. /
With another heavenly promise I load up my gun. /

Only if...
you…...
hadn’t lied
I…...
hadn’t sinned….. and
They…..
hadn’t started the fire.
………

Depression is flowers smelt like coffins,
She told me once,
I received her flowers and I knew why.
Coated with pains is her heart full of blues.
I planted poppies and
by dawn,
They already smelt
like her toxic cigarettes.