I am driving and it hits me.
No, literally, it hits me
I’m driving and I slam into the back of another car

When I get out to access the damage,
It looks like nothing has even scratched it
Until I get in and the right side blinker is going double its normal speed.

I guess this is the lesson where I learn
That not all broken things are visible from the outside
But, I drive the car anyway

I tell people the broken blinker is just a “bad habit”
Tell them that it wasn’t that bad anyway
Tell them that I still love the car
Why would I get the blinker fixed if I still love the car?

But -
I am so tired of making only left hand turns

What do I do if I try to get it fixed
And they ask what happened?

Do I tell them that my headlights weren’t the only things made of glass?

Do I tell them that loving you was like a magic trick?
Being sawed in half, over and over
Until I felt knives instead of hands when you held me?

Until I tasted someone else when I kissed you?
You were always such a good magician.

Always so good at disappearing
Always so good at being in two places at once
Being in my arms and his bed
Always so good at letting your assistant drown in this tank of water

And then
The show ends

And when the curtain falls, and the audience is sitting there, silent
And there’s no more applause for your stupid escape act
No more for you manipulating your way through these stupid handcuffs

They will ask how you did it
How the magician escaped without a single scratch
But I will not reveal the magician’s secrets.

Instead, I will smile.
I will tell them that you are like a postcard
Dated yesterday, marked “see you later”
How do you break up with a ****** message when you’ve already fallen in love with the view?

How do you leave someone when you can’t unlearn how to see their perfect postcard picture?

And then, again, I’m driving
On my way home from the grocery store and

I’m avoiding using my broken blinker
And I’m turning left, and left, and left
And three lefts dont make a right doesn’t mean that three wrongs do make a right
Or four, or five,
Did you tell him you loved him?

And
I wait for a note
For an “I’m sorry”
For anything

Except you’re just sitting there
And staring
Did you mean it?

Did you mean it
And I drive by your house
And around the whole town
You are there

In my steering wheel,
In my broken blinker,
And underneath my tires

I have not forgotten how to love you yet
But **** it.
I’m trying.
This is your best magic trick yet.

The way this noose still looks like a necklace and
I wait.
And I come up from under the water
And you are not there.

And I am cold
And gasping
Breathless

But
To me,
This is the kindest thing you have ever done.

Please use your blinker
Is that too much to ask
Whether you are running right
Are you are turning left

Because in all actuality
We have no idea
What your future holds for us
Inside that bobble head

Please think of others
And we will do the same
As we sit inside our cars
Playing turn signal guessing games

Hoping that these moments
Are not taken up in vain
So make a flick of the wrist on that switch
Before it is too late

There you are, boy, all apatter with
‘Whats the matters’ and those rainy eyes that
look out but don’t want to be looked into
for too long, drier now, memorising cracks.
Forget those useless stomach-drops you feel
you ought to feel, stand taller, be prouder.
Say goodbye to your knees from me, closer
then, the map of falls that took the gravel
with the breeze that were vision’s blinker-walls.
Thank you for the memories you put away
for rainy days, my repository, the
treasure trove of touchstones you didn’t skim.
Every tear and every maple seed you threw:
I still want to make sense of it all for you.

Brake-clutch-shift
Glance at the clock
It must be about... half-past-an *******
as I sit in traffic, idling, wondering

Glance at the clock
Could this be hell?
98 degrees, sure humid enough
and will this guy ever signal a turn
or find the gas pedal?!
No, of course not
His job in damnation is to torture
the sucker stuck behind--

--his cardiac appointment
his destiny at the grocery store
Half hour early
just to wait in line
to pick up prescriptions
to punch the clock at The Pearly Gates

He's out and about in his Ford Taurus
ridin' the brakes
touring the streets in sunglasses with blinders

“No Effn' blinker, Pops!?”

Twenty miles per hour
just inside the lines of

Turning me into the animal I am
in the depths

funny, isn't it? how facebook displays how long it's been since a person was last active. they remind me that i was a mere three hundred seconds from catching you online, but that's okay; no, really!, it is;

because my fingers are hovering over my keyboard and the blinker's just blinking in its white little space, this Type a message... glaring at me accusingly. wait, give me a second. what do i tell you? what should i say?

hi is safe. so is hello. hey seems a little too casual, doesn't it? should i put an emoji? a heart? no, no. a smiley face. but just the normal smiley face, not the one with closed eyes and everything. or maybe i should use that instead?

but /then what/?

i guess i could ask you how your day went. that sounds well enough. i can ask you about the weather. no, ******, it's always hot. nothing interesting there. i'll just branch out after you tell me what you've done today, where you've gone. oh, you went to the movies? that's great. last movie i watched was Captain America: Civil War. are you team cap or team iron man? peachy. just peachy. perfect. i've got this. i am s--

*******, you're online. why are you online? the green circle is just staring at me and oh my god, you're typing, you're typing in to our chat box. oh my god. i liked it better when you were inactive. when you were offline. now i just wait, maybe pretend i wasn't this loser waiting for you to talk to me, this loser who had you on my mind, this loser overthinking what i should say to y--

You (12:39 PM)
Hey. I was just thinking about you. :)

It was
the staircase in the hospital garage.
It was
feeling sick on top of the suburb.
It was the pull of the estuary
the lake that isn’t a lake
washing up syringes
onto the asphalt where we stood,
barefoot.

It is that fence they erected on the levee,
landscaping,
dead grass in a wasteland.
It is the swan in your backyard.

It is the metronome of the blinker;
smell of your deodorant.
You rub your hands together by the steering wheel
and cross into the suicide lane.

It is your feet in the sand.
It was the moon in your hand.
It was the spool of thread
you could never get the knots out of.
It was the German your mother spoke
Heil, Heil, Heil…

It is the gas, the gas,
das Gas.
"Leave me alone," she says.
"Ich möchte allein sein."

*Es ist der Regen auf deiner Fenstersheibe: weinen, weinen.

Ich weine…

An hour out to sea, by land, and as early as the sun rises, the thumbs hit the road looking for a way into town, out of town.

Gulls speak in vowels,
melodious as wind carries the sounds
under the pier, through nets being cast
to sea. Glimmer in the fisherman's eye,
staring at the waves that crash below.
Erosion is the fear of councilmen and
the faces plastered on billboards,
but nature isn't a mistake. We have only
wrapped ourselves in a blanket we call
chemistry. A beach turned to glass,
we still wouldn't see the ocean clearly,
and we would still ask why the sky is blue.

Driving down roads, ten miles in between
each town. I've never seen so many thumbs out.
In cities, from which I've seen, a ******* is customary. But not here. A thumb is an absolute,
and a blinker on a car pulling to the side is a
flash of compassion. Ocean from side to side, pastel houses scattered on land beside sea shells
and surf shops.

And the hitchhiker walks,
with a backpack,
and one can make out a peace sign,
and long, sun spotted hair. Someone that
knows the land.
Businesses hang "Going Out of Business" signs,
but that is embellished. That is because the pastel
houses only flourish during seasons. For people
who want a taste of a simpler life. Who call out
to an ocean breeze, with hopes of casting away
a stress level that would change a footprint
on sand into a window to the soul. And here I sit with my feet in the sand, tear running down my
cheek, because men do cry, especially when staring out to sea. I've seen shore, but I would
not ask a local what coastal means to them,
I wouldn't understand.
Where I come from, people hold out their hand.
A thumb is a rarity.

So, here's something, that I really thinks lame,
Put your blinker on if you're gonna turn or switch lanes.
And don't wait til the last second, that's just plain dumb.
Blinkers are pretty useful, and not just for fun.
Here's another, a crazy idea I propose.
If you're eating something, then chew it with your mouth closed.
Cuz I can see the food you're chewing, and that's just too gross.
That cow - grazing sound, makes me clench my toes.
Here's another thing, I see every **** day.
People littering when the can's a few feet away.
Is it too much work? Are you really that lazy?
The nerve of some people... I tell you, it's amazing.

No click in my heels
No swagger in my step
No light in my eye
No life in my breath

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

No wine in my glass
No smoke in my bowl
No needle in my vein
No pills to swallow

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

No story on the screen
No music in the speakers
No freshness in my sheets
No blinking from my blinker

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

No words on the page
No mess on the floor
No meal in the oven
No muse......no ******

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

No truth in my smile
No silver lining on the cloud
No joy in my spirit
No peace for my brow

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

Yet the emptier I get
The deeper I feel
A large open space
Truth is revealed

Empty as empty
A hole filled with nothing
So much nothing
Has got to be something

that one unfinished bird metaphor
     Wear me like a birdskull necklace.
     Grind my hollow bones into sugar for your coffee.
     Pluck my feathers plume by plume to make pens for your washed-out poetry.


math note lines
     1. I SWALLOWED EVERY PIECE OF GLASS THAT REMAINED FROM YOUR SHATTERED REFLECTION. *******.
     2. WEDGE RAZOR BLADES BETWEEN YOUR TEETH AND SINK THEM INTO ME. TAKE EVERY LAST BREATH FROM ME. COLLAPSE MY LUNGS AND RIP OUT MY TONGUE. LEAVE ME WHERE YOU FOUND ME, VOMITING INTO THE KITCHEN SINK LIKE IT’S NOTHING, SHOULDERS HEAVING. I’VE BEEN PUTTING OFF THIS 3RD PARTY SUICIDE BUT IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN TONIGHT. KISS MY HEART GOODBYE.
     3. BREAK YOUR JAW BITING BULLETS LIKE YOU’RE TRIGGER HAPPY. I NEVER ASKED FOR ANY OF THIS BUT HERE WE ARE, STANDING ON THE CLIFF WITH NO COMMON GROUND BETWEEN US. IS THAT WHY YOU JUMPED SHIP? YOU COULDN’T HANDLE IT? I WASN’T BULLETPROOF ENOUGH FOR YOU, AND YOU WERE JUST TOO MUCH.

blinker
     my mom uses her turn signal like an afterthought
     it’s pointless at that point but that’s conditioning
     and her train of thought has always been linear


ugh
     when i was 15 i asked my mom to start taking me to therapy
     she said baby why pay a stranger when you can just talk to me about anything
     and i smiled like i wasn’t dying inside and started writing poetry.
     funerals cost less than student loans
     at this rate when i graduate i won’t be able to afford myself a home
     the american dream has been dead for a century
     a degree is worthless and it’s not likely i’ll make much of a salary
     have you even imagined yourself outside of high school yet?
     i’ve never thought about my life past my graduation date

thinking about someone
     sing serenades through silent car radios like static
     through sleepy stormcloud eyes that could swallow you whole
     he’s got a smile with more stars than yours ever did
     wishbone collarbones and long eyelashes
     stringing together dreams in constellations
     piecing together fractured calculus equations

i’ve been reading pete wentz’s old livejournal posts again*
     you’re apocalyptic chemistry, a candycane of all the things i never was and never could be to keep you stable. i’m a broken spine and you’re fading. love is hard to quantify so i’ll just keep counting and catching fireflies.

He was older than he felt
but his accomplishments
made him feel like he
was trailing behind.

Middle school said the
next step mattered.
High school said the
next step mattered.
College said your
degree would matter.
Here I am
making your drink.

Hey—did you hear?
I’m selling salvation
in a pamphlet.
Oh—is it clear?
I’m in cheap slacks
on your cheap
doorstep.  

People are dying older.
Politics keep getting bolder.
Can’t afford my prescription refill.
Sign me up for war. Use your
******* blinker. I’m only a season
behind.

He looked younger than
he was, all just because
he didn’t live life hard.
Nothing wrong with that—
some people say it’s lazy,
while eroding their bodies.

I thought that looks
would matter.
I thought wits
would matter.
That a career was just
a ladder
you scaled.
Here I am
managing pennies.
There you are
managing memories.
Hope I can afford a
vacation.

Hey—did you hear?
Your death won’t even be free.
Oh—is it clear?
You’re a tenant in your plot
until the landlord forgets.

People are getting older.
Politics are getting bolder.
Choosing insurance over groceries.
Sign me up for Hulu. Five dollars on
pump five. I’m only a paycheck behind.

There was a sort of whizzer boy,
The tinker blinker clinker boy,
With gears and knobs and springs abound,
A head full of thoughts and gears that go round.

He liked to paint and make and build,
For every craft, yes, he was skilled.
“Working hard but with time to play?
Why, that’s my favorite kind of today!”

But what made him different, you see...
He was always quite metallic-y,
And when it was his time for bed,
He charged his battery, and turned off his head.

He looks at me hard, with disproval or disbelief, I cannot tell
He blinks twice, fast
Licks his lips in anticipation
Because what he is about to say can be taken so many ways
A lot of them badly

“Dude, you date her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You love her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“You kiss her?”
“Yeah, I do”
“But she’s---” (shuts up)
“Yeah, she is”

Black
Before he spouts out another protest
before he blinks twice, licks his lips all over again
And points out that Asians shouldn’t date black girls
false
I ask him to take a look at what we’re both wearing
Black
Because quite simply, black looks good

So does she

He asks me why,
and I proceed to give him more reasons on why I date a black girl
than Republicans can against Obamacare
1: Black looks good
2: She’s a track star; runs like a horse
3: that’s really hot
4: Her eyes turn me into the walls of Jericho; I crumble down without resistance
5: She has the most beautiful smile that I have ever seen
6: I don’t need a 6

A thought for the public
If Beyonce dumped Jay-Z due to a sudden hunger for Asian men
Posted online for all the “single calculus geniuses” to meet her at a certain point
on a coordinate plane
I guarantee you that she’ll find a crowd bigger than both of their reputations combined
They’ll come in droves, driving like fanatics
You got your Tokyo Drift, your Jeremy Lin, your Mario Kart
and your blinker left on for the last 5 miles

Another idea to chew on
When my sister was asked who was the most attractive man in Hollywood
her response time was faster than Usain Bolt’s
She picked Anthony Mackie; I see some of ya’ll nodding
She even nicknamed him “Black Beauty”

Well my Black Beauty is in this room
She’s my own Queen B
Got me so drunk in love
My friends be scanning the sky for Cupid
Sending arrows from above

So why do people question the logic on whom I date
If I love her, that should overcome all misgivings
Not like they should’ve existed in the first place

I implore him to revisit this nation 170 years ago
when ***** wasn’t yet a racial term
rather it was the sound of the clanking of metal to railroad
as the slaves built train tracks for this country to be connected

To this day we still have more Emmitt Tills than we ever should
Trayvon Martin
Sean Bell
Oscar Grant
Rhamarley Graham
Jonathan Ferrell
The list goes on and on
Just like the subtle discriminations the black race still endures

At this point he might say that I am off topic, overboard
that I don’t have a clue of what I’m talking about
He’s only partially right because I am Asian
Not black, but yellow
But I can relate just a bit

And even to this day, white boys in school halls try to talk black because they think its ****
Rich women still clutch their purses tighter upon seeing you in public
Nervous people in elevators still eye you and your tats and make bogus assumptions
Authorities still follow you just because you’re wearing an oversized hoodie,
sagging your pants, and showing off your under armour

You know why these people point and stare and whisper
when laying eyes on you
making you feel like you’re courtside at a Clippers game
Some do it out of elitism and habit
Others out of fear
And some do it because quite simply, black looks good

And even though I intended to stop at 5,
He now has millions of reasons on why it’s ok I date a black girl
And rest assured, he is not the only one who needed to hear them

He blinks twice, licks his lips one final time
“But she’s black dude”
“Yeah, she is”
But she is so much more

The rain splashing against my car's windshield, as it is flung from another car's tire.
The whoosh of air across the roof.
That audible shift when driving surfaces change beneath the vehicle.
“Click Click Click”
The blinker chimes, as I wait to turn left.
As I turn, the steering wheel groans with the car’s leftward weight shift.
I yawn.
Traffic goes on.
I glance to the billboards littering the highway’s landscape.
One reads; “Does advertising work? Just did!”
Hardly.
A sharp honk heard from behind. I had been daydreaming again.
My hands rise up apologetically as I press my foot to the gas and drive on.
I miss her.
"Stop, not now." I mutter. "Drive on."
So I drove on.

On the bed in my dorm room
I sit alone and contemplate
Where am I going to end up?
And the answer is “here”
I look back and think about where I was
I remember holding the paws of my big red dog
Rolling around in our big backyard
And picking lollipops from under the swing set
I remember running through the woods
To the little wooden house
I would climb to the top
Getting splinters on the way up
And I would sit for a second
Which seemed like forever
And then I would run home
I remember all the treasures from the woods
A stature of a young boy in a pile of leaves
A letter that we never received
But I did
I remember the dandelions
Lining the edge of the woods as if guarding it
And I remember them closing their buds at night
I remember picking them, with no knowledge that they were simply weeds
I remember the day my dog ran away
Throwing cloths out of my drawers
Screaming his name at the top of my lungs
My heart beating out of my chest
Until my Dad brought him home, safe and sound
I remember, then, contemplating his death
I decided he would die when I entered high school
But I also decided that high school would never happen
So my big red dog and I would play forever
But I still had to protect him
And keep him safe
He would come with us everywhere
Even to the big house
I remember the long car rides
The soothing sound of what I later learned was the blinker
That lulled me to sleep
And my big red dog would sleep too
And in my dreams, I dreamt about growing up
So right now, here I sit
Asking myself where I will end up
Well I ended up “here” didn’t I?
And that’s when I realized
Everything will be fine.

If I knew life went So fast
I would have been more cautious
I would have always used a blinker
Always checked my mirrors
Forced everyone to wear seatbelts
I wouldn't have speed that fast
I would have walked a little more
And admired the giant oak trees
And blue cloud dotted skys

I would have looked into your eyes a little longer
I would have sang,
Danced, laughed
And loved a little more

But then again,
I wouldn't have changed anything
For the world
And Thank you for that.

When the shower curtains are made of silk and bleach detergent is in your milk, there are subtle signals of your malady played to the notes under this melody.
This house is a frozen Frigidaire. Remnants kept
Cold.
Bare.
Simple thoughts of the sandman’s nightmares.
The monsters escape from beneath the stairs.
They're afraid of freezing, afraid of Death.
Though you stand there breathing yet can't feel your breath. And you're there in the hallway.
And you're there in the breezeway.
And you're on the white balcony playing dead.
You're in between the wallspace.
And you're in the creaks of the staircase.
And you're on the ivory keys playing this song in my head.
The car in the driveway is 50-years-old.
The tires are roots. The seat belts are mold.
There's no gas in the fuel tank, the steering wheel's gone.
You sit as the driver, your blinker's stuck on.
I found your name in the library news. It vaguely explained what had happened to you.
For most of your life you were silver spooned
Wealthy
And rich.
Yet, simultaneously
Cold.
And bare.  
Slowly sipping musical arsenic
Unhappy
Dead.

I don't have ADD
But she smiled at me
And I guess that changes everything

I don't speak with two tongues
I'm just a sucker who's killing his lungs
And I guess that changes everything

I don't walk ten miles an hour
And when I speak it is without power
And I guess that changes everything

I forgot my blinker,
I wanted to flirt and wink at her,
I see now. That changes everything

I see now. And I should've known
I could fall in love.
Now I know that she wants me,
And I know she's my everything

It's always been strange for me
when the car in front of mine slows,
blinker on in the middle of an otherwise still street,
And I watch it turn off into a driveway

I am overcome by a rush of nostalgia
as I realize that, for that one car, for those people,
the house connected to that driveway, that I haven't even taken the time to look at,
To them, that house is home.

like the tide, i will not hush
when your gravity
brings me to tow;

if my facets in movement
blinker too brightly
then like the tide

i feebly reflect
but your own
blinding albedo.

Now I take the long way home most nights
a few extra minutes for back roads and quiet
the first turn faces me directly away from home
and in the darkness I cruise straight down a beautiful road to nowhere
off
and
away
and I am a free, flying runaway
for only a minute
before dutifully turning left.
at that intersection
my eyes always linger straight ahead, on my road to nowhere and anywhere
I could stay on this path and not look back
leaving everything
to be alone

But already I have involuntarily pulled into the turn lane.
My blinker is on, and so there is no way out of it.
I will go back home like I should.  
What
was I thinking?
My home is nice.  My life is good.  
There
is nothing
to run away from.
but maybe...
is there something is worth running to?

It only happens
every now and again
where you meet someone who
seems to be almost magical
like when your blinker syncs up
with the song you’re listening to on the radio.
It’s not necessarily fate but you
can't help but wonder
as to whether or not the two
were designed to go together.

Like blinkers and songs
the two weren’t made for each other
but happen to function independently
and just sound good when running in parallel
which is more than can be said
for a lot of the people I know
who are searching
endlessly
for the perfect accompanying beat
to their words while
ignoring
the symphonies within.