You're on the floor
Knee deep in memories
Swimming above the rest

Taped inside to a wall
Of secretly filled desires
Unadultrated
Fetish tied
Teeth gripped
Tears inside

Turning fears into
Excitement

You crave
You dance
At the thrill
Of the life
Those nights
brought out

A parrot, clothed in a robe of red,
sits and stares and admires the view;
A canvas of blue, untainted by cloud,
illuminated by life below.
A slight breeze bends the droplet shaped leaves
to stick out their noses and praise the sky,
some point fingers towards the parrot,
preoccupied with the scene.
Slender green snakes engulf the plants,
that take their slumber on the jungle bed,
while pointed leaves,
stiff and straight,
stand like cardboard props.
A monkey perches under a fruit crowned bush,
it’s brother watching in scorn.
Tempted like Eve, he plucks an orange from the tree
and cradles its belly, swollen and ripe.
Below,
a leafy cage swallows those who disobey,
observed by the guard in his uniform of blue.
Above, pink flowers
held up by tangled arms,
soak up the last of the dying flames,
as the sun is extinguished by the canopy.
Tropical torches flicker blue and white
playing hide and seek within dense undergrowth,
while the parrot still sits and admires the view,
amongst changing shades of green.

You’re so exotic.
He’d stare into my almond eyes,
one lighter than the other
fingers following the tangled waves
that ran down my shoulder blades.

What was exotic?
My father, blue eyed brute,
born into the Los Angeles slums
when the city lights were still
filled by browning fields.

My mother, unbleached hazel,
proud to say she’s been
an American longer,
than ever a refugee.

You should dye it black.
The tangled waves,
hues of coffee and amber
were never good enough.

You should dress more like them.
I’m sorry,
the pink and blue sampot hol
with silk ruffles and mandarin flowers
don’t match my ***** sneakers,
and for the hundredth time,
it’s not a kimono.
No, I don’t know anyone
who works at that massage parlor
with the women in six inch heels
parading around the golden dragon
out in front.

No, my father didn’t rescue
my mother from the nail salon
and what makes you think
I would know anything about
mail order brides.

Television has taught you
that I should be exotic
and neurotic.
Ready to submit
at the snap of your fingers.

Ready to present,
with a geisha’s poise.
You really expect me to respond?

Beware the Anna Conda
of Boa Vista;
So easy to coil up
in those snakes for arms,
so deadly to be bitten
by those snakes for charms.

orchids exotic captured
the man's botanical eye
they were so beautiful
in display
with delicate petals
and a scent
of heady romance


the wheelchair bound New York
cop saw defining evidence
of the exquisite
bloom
his heart elated
by the flower's
gorgeous
loom

there under his real
name of Raymond Burr
he established
an orchid garden
on a Fiji island
the climate perfect
for growing
and nurturing
the plant species
arresting of sight
so sublime
its vision's delight