siren song
splash the jagged rocks
hopelessly incandescent
awaiting sailors call
from faraway isles

mermaid tails
iridescent scales
rainbow ripples
extend out
ships to sea

serpent teeth
from depths of black
sink into wood
cries fall deep
drowned

pirate swagger
cutlass clangs
of power
lustrous treasure
buried

open waves
breathless orange
skies of amethyst
and gold
ocean tales told

The sunset is a warning
of the chaos of night.

When the horizon floods with black ink
and the sleepwalkers emerge
to dance under the stars.

Witches cackle.
Chanting spells at the moon.

And the sky hides the time,
if it even passes at all.

You can sleep
through the fever dream.
But where's the fun
in being afraid
of the dark.

Daylights were so much
than expensive goldbars
with your arms securing my chest
in the twenty-fifth of May
covered with comfy bedsheets
and you as my everyday scenery,
my healthy breakfast,
my vitamin A.

But nightfalls were so much
unaware than missed shooting stars
in clouded firmament
with your eyes refused to stay
growing cherry blossoms
as I hope that your feet
became regretful
for stepping to the nothingness
to the process of forgeting
until to the complete unknown

— marion.

How can I save
a beam of light
open it secretly in darkness
throughout haze

You always advance
Light speed
How can I catch
the afterglow of yesterday

I always want to stay
Unwilling to see
petal falling
snow becoming mud

I just want to stay
Under the temple of light
regardless of world vicissitudes

You stand there
Looking back suddenly
The light of setting sun has infused into your smiling face
From then, my every night dream is living in the temple of light

I used to
chase the sun.
I feared the sunset
and the darkness
that would prevail.
I didn't think the horizon
could be more beautiful
until I found my moon
that is you.

Mothers come gently to our rooms, the sunset kiss on the forehead,
Woven homilies from their baskets of forgiveness and spools of yarn.

But for the grave, this heart its coiled sunset unspools, so long entwined
In woods and seas that redden now into the soul of all sunsets combined.

And that’s when he said to me that
This is
As good as it gets
And I am
Your only friend
And the sun goes
No-where
When it sets
He said

And now I am only a little bit
Taller
Than when that was said
And I am
Such a broken man
And I know
That the sun goes
No-
     where
When it sets
     Because
     That is what
He said

I am on Mackinac Island,
Lying down on a big white lawn chair
In front of the Grand Hotel.  
The faint scent of fudge
Lingers on the air so I can almost taste it,
And my hair is getting constantly blown
By the wind that flows among the
Chairs, grass, and music.  
The music comes from the direction of the water,
Where an old style jazz band has
Temporarily set up shop,
Creating gorgeous silhouettes
Against the orange and pink sunset sky.  
The purring of the clarinet
Bounces off of me like the waves are
Bouncing on shore,
But even lighter than that,
Even lighter than the
Wings of the seagull trailing overhead.  
The clarinet drops in and out of sync
With the waves as the silhouettes start to
Bounce to the music.  
A distant bike bell dings,
But it matches so harmoniously
With the music that I don't notice it.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
A constant cycle interrupted only by
The saxophone and drums occasionally.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
The sun is set.  
Silhouettes turn to shadows.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike.  
Waves.