Odysseus struggles needs to prove to himself world he is talented painter determined to achieve recognition goes from art dealer to art dealer seeking support one dealer says Schwartzpilgrim stop changing settle on 1 style you can be known for what you’re doing now is good stick with it call me in 6 months with 300 drawings just like these another dealer says Odys you must learn great art is a **** beneath bed sheets another dealer says Modigliani knew how to paint flesh paint like Modigliani you need to learn more about painting Schwartzpilgrim you’re too young inexperienced another dealer says thank you for your interest in our gallery we’re not taking on any new painters at this time Odysseus knows there are people so much more talented better looking than him he feels inadequate intimidated

thinks to himself sister Penny is right female wish list is curse Bayli haunts she alone always be my ideal until i met Reiko Lee now Reiko Lee Furshe holds me captive i long for her voice eyes shoulders wiry delicateness crazy outrageous humor fiery ****** appetite i need to tear apart wish list leave myself open need to learn to seek inner beauty let anatomy fall where it will need to cultivate new standards it’s difficult to see with different eyes i am so biased how do i do this?

Odysseus muses with Reiko’s ghost 6 months since separation lights candles burns incense opens bottle of red wine pours glass for her and himself sips watches her glass while he makes toasts speaks elaborately of her beauty charm cites reasons why each of them does not need the other why couldn’t you have been the one? what is it about me you didn’t like? what did i do wrong? pours another glass begins talking louder ending in rage why aren’t you here? why? what went so terribly wrong? i love you where are you? how come you’re not here with me tonight? looks at her glass sees she has not even taken sip feels slightly drunk fearful he has sunk too deep  gets up staggers to bed sniffs blanket for traces of her tonight is their anniversary his only excuse

telephone rings sometime in late july hi it’s me Reiko how’ve you been Odys? he questions Reiko Lee? uh yes Odys it’s meee your stray puppy Reiko’s voice sounds playful tender Odys are you there? what’s up? let me come over **** and ******* please he speaks into receiver Reiko Lee is dead hangs up wonders if he has done right thing paces room writes a woman like that you tell yourself you do not need  ignore her deny her let her pass because if you admit how much you want her you become fugitive in chains running from dogs men with guns a woman like that is all you need a woman like that is motive seed chance of a lifetime a woman like that takes chances at twice your speed a woman like that keeps you guessing hoping waiting a woman like that leaves you destitute you cannot have her because she possesses you a woman like that is a wanted woman

decides to move finds new place blocks away apartment on lill street changes telephone number in his heart he knows nothing more thrilling beautiful than joyous girl yet he attracts women who seek abuse because they see themselves in him because he lets them try to mend his abused mind because he misuses them so well reaching finding joyous girl looms impossible breakup feeds venting bitter fires

the most dangerous woman eludes meall other women are too attainable chinese green tea gestapo limousine it doesn’t matter that you don’t understand that is the line darling dangling darjeeling your lips bleeding your ***** on fire imagine i am running sprinting in relay race just up ahead i’m about to pass baton this is life expectancy of poet indonesian cigarettes made of clove leaves i held your wrists pinned your fragile body to floor strummed you like guitar while other men looked on i knew one of them would take you next

miranda comes out on verandah with lemonade on hot summer day hair blows free in breeze leans back against beam softly hums inside time bomb ticks somewhere fly caught in room knocking itself against window ricocheting off corners  buzzing crisscross ceiling floor miranda sips just enough so lips are wet eyelids flutter like butterfly wings ******* swell in heat of midday sun she calls to us with hand stirs more sugar in lemonade late afternoon when fly is caught entangled in spider’s web buzzing is muffled ice has melted lemonade watery we are dozing in hammocks rocking chairs miranda is changing dress perfuming thighs crafting character in mirror screen door slams she looks up recognizing it is only wind sun is sinking orange ball spider crawls fixing aim grabs thread swings in for **** we are passed out in grass at dusk lights around verandah beam on miranda appears wearing low-neck dress with one strap down breath heavy with anise invites us inside giggling shyly as we follow timeless newsreel vision men hard at work war room spins as fly ***** desperately spider opens legs miranda lies arched on bed eyes weaving

he gets drunk loudly sings she must be some kind of witch flying in the wind she must be some kind of ***** to dig this grave i’m in he rhymes it was just another **** stunt forgive me for speaking so blunt she was just being a lady no need to get crazy it was just another **** stunt he scribbles she gets ****** hair styled eyebrows plucked nails done walks out new woman miss fox Mrs. G. Fox madame de faux meeting the girls for lunch wearing her pearls writing her name in swirls talking up a storm pack of women is worse than pack of hungry wolves wolves stop at carrion women carve combs out of bones

Cal is driving Odysseus sits in passenger seat heading to pit & pendulum for cocktails it is raining down hard Odysseus looks out beyond sweeping windshield wipers sees red cowboy boots the ones they found together at flea market there she is Reiko Lee Furshe arisen from wasteland Odysseus tells Cal to stop car turns to see her she is running across street his hand reaches for car door handle what’s happening? Cal demands are you there? i can’t stop cars behind me! this is crazy Odys what’s going on? i’m not stopping! Odysseus stares through rear window frozen watching her disappear behind red brick wall in pouring rain

ghost girl it’s difficult to write in comatose passage apart i am in theater of mirrors with empty seat beside me black hole inside me itinerary of fears i’m seeing dancer but haunted by you look in your eyes smell on your fingers clonking up stairs of your wooden clog shoes feelings we dared plans we knew might never come true la laahh la lay la lay dee la lady of shady lagoon weeping willow pisces moon like India ink you’ve left indelible stain i fumble in dark of empress’s tomb like necrophiliac i grip onto memory stroke ashes of you lantern licorice amethyst bone you are gliding in your canoe cutting through mist swirling whirlpools that untangle themselves behind you dancing nearer to flame la shady lady does pirouettes in rain

I remember when the photos treated Sam kind,
and yet on the late nights (coffee, gin, cigarettes, the like) --
instead of relaying stories of interstate thighs,
instead of talking in fistfuls and mouthloads --
he spoke of internet *******.

Me, Greg, and Greg's cousin who was named after
an Eastwood western would sink the sofa.

Sam would go through the bottles, and he spoke of
internet ******* with complete delicateness.

"Their eyes always get me. The way they stare into the camera,
and every once in awhile, the veil comes down. You see they
don't want to be there. You see an eager, teenage **** reflected
in their black pupils. You see her quivering lips.
You see the ritual. It's heart-breaking."

Sam would rub his forehead -- carved by time.
Greg would ask how the real ladies were treating him.
Sam never answered.

Time made deeper creases in Sam each day,
behind a closed door,
in the secret hours,
all to the glow of a laptop screen.

He had given his love to the distance
in the **** actresses' eyes.

In the eyes of the girl who sat laughing in the corner of the room,
not worrying what the world thought about her,
captivating the world with her sincere personality,
unfolding her humbleness,
letting her guard down for all she could offer,
building no walls of defense..
letting the world watch her and clench their lustful desires on her ,
mesmerized by her inner beauty,
you quench for more of her delicateness,
sparing no innocence for her cries,
violently abusing her fragile soul,
Now what's left of her is an endless vulnerability to fear and hatred,
Traumatic  nightmares, permanent scars,
The worst part is you live everyday of your life with no slight regret,
not a glimpse of guilt,
Now she's left only with bits of herself, drying her tears every night as she pick up her leftover faith she has to painfully move on in this cruel world, without a single justice of her suffering...

It seems that every time
I'm with you,
I feel inspired.
And of course,
with inspiration
comes the utmost desire
to do the one thing
I love greatest;
and that,
is to write.

But how do I write,
when words can't even
begin to describe
the way you play the piano?
Your gentle fingers
stroke each key with such
delicateness
and I want to cry because
your hands could never
cause harm the way
mine do.

How do I write,
when not even the
world's greatest camera
could capture the beauty of
the nighttime sky and
all the other outside wonders
that look so much more
radiant when I'm walking
right next to you?

A poem cannot justify
the fact that I used to
stay indoors when it
poured down rain
because I was scared
of getting wet.
But with you,
I'd walk through
a hailstorm
and that would be
completely fine
with me.

To be honest,
it should scare me
that a girl who
loves words could
be so speechless.
But I am fearless
because being with you
has taught me that
sometimes
I don't need to think
and I don't need to see.
I don't need anything
but my heart,
for every pulsing beat
will tell me what to do.

And now,
as I frantically search
for something to say;
an incredible form
of literature
that would take your
breath away,
I realize that
I don't need to.

Because
how do I write,
when not even
the smartest human
on earth
could explain how
when I'm with you,
my demons turn into
angels?

I need not say more
because sometimes
words just aren't
enough.
So hopefully one day
I can close my mouth,
open my heart,
and show you that
I do indeed
care about you,
too.

I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.

But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.

You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.

You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.

And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.

It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.

A month.

That's all it took.


To turn these once
delicate hands into
calloused, mangled,
limbs.

Overworked and exhausted.

But when you flew in to stay the night
these calloused, mangled, limbs couldn't help
but

want nothing more than to touch your
smooth,

scarred,

velvety

soft,

skin.

Like toffee, it is.
The color of mocha or lightly tanned leather.

They knew,
oh they knew...

That from every touch they took

They would slowly regain their delicateness again

That delicateness they so miss...

Beautiful days roll by
arms tangled warmly
heart beats dance together
white sheets veil peaks and valleys lightly
a sweet mingling of delicateness
a breath drawn, a breath shared
a beautiful animal contented and sated
rose buds fallen away
flushes of pink remain,
until the lull of resting seeps in
a breath drawn, a breath shared
as beautiful days roll by
arms tangled warmly
heart beats dance together,
white lies veil lightly,
a sweet mingling of delicateness
flushes of pink remain.

A woman receives a blossom
of the one meant for her but once.
But I, like heroine of ages past
have not one love but two.

Just as a mother loves both her children
but in differences and personality
so do my loves vary so
like the flower and the ****.

The ****, feisty and strong in nature
blooms from the cracks in broken roads
unwilling to die or burn from the Sun's heat
beautiful to no other eyes but mine.

It grows in the roughest of spots
and yet your appeal blinds me
the hardy soul who touches mine own
yet a flower be you still.

Daffodils, daisies, beautiful and stout

The other a flower of delicateness
thin little petals unfurling in a ***
nature at its most gentle
to be easily torn and ripped to shreds.

Beauty is obvious in truest form
much love is needed to keep you well
the water of the heart dribbling from the brook
to make you flourish.

Can I not keep you both to me
to keep your loves in my vase on the window
to display all those perfections to the earth
and to keep you both in my arms?

No, it will never be so simple, will it?
So I must choose to survive
I know not to choose rashly
but, conflicted of mind, I stare deeply into the garden...

Can we live without leap seconds?
{Leap Seconds are added to our clocks to compensate for the earth's
s l    o w.    I n   g rotation.}

I'll hate to see black and blank dim excuses of memories- instead of a full dinner table, silverware ready for the hands and faces I like too much.
Your skin on my skin on sleepless autumn, winter, summer nights.
The very first time I saw your front teeth peeking from the very middle inside of your pale cherry-bitten lips.

The kind of hug where I feel the steady, brave heartbeat of dad, the delicateness only mothers can muster ; women who love us unconditionally even if there is nothing. She seeps this delicate ness between homemade sandwiches of jam and whatever you would lick off your fingertips.

If this is all the time we get, please don't ever take it away.

He is a delicateness
a tender beautiful mess
He is the softness of
the papers of an old book
He is that forgotten wetness
of shy kissed lips
He is that sudden leap in her heart
when she smells rain
He is all those tiny things
unseen and untouched
Believe me he is
all that I have touched and cherished.

He is the emptiness
of a broken summer's moon.
Believe me he is.

The first time I saw you, you we were 18 years old and you were in jean shorts
You said I had cool hair and we agreed to start a band.
I thought you were so hyper and that we could never have a sustaining friendship.
But life's funny like that

You told me of your dad
Your hyperness; My sombreness
Our delicateness; Our humaness
We are girls too big for this world

And the thing is:
we didn't start a band
but as we go through life we'll always have each other's hands
Because we're scared as hell
And you might have forgotten all the things you used to love
But I'll be there to remind you as we're growing up

If I told you

My past

Would you run and hide?

People tell me to wait

But, now I think it's your time to decide

Will you understand my struggles?

Probably not, I fear,

Those piercing thoughts that ******* me

When I'm standing before a mirror

I also fear

My fragility

The delicateness of my mental state

For if this goes much further

And I reveal my true state,

It's better for you to run now

Than wade too deep, then escape.

true love's kiss a wishful thing
like the delicateness of a butterfly wing
you make me weak in my stupid knees
'cause you scare me as much as a horde of bees
my love for you is purest white
but when you draw near, I take flight
I timidly tried to give you my heart
but you sat and laughed as you tore it apart
the lesson I hope you all learn from my mess
Be brave! Have courage! True love is fearless!

I own every inch of myself,
my eyes, hands, and my two little feet.
I see what I want my eyes to see,
Be in broad daylight or in complete darkness.

My hands feed the angel and the demon in me,
And I go barefooted to towns and the wilderness.
I am their master, and they are my slaves.
My words give them life, and my voice, strength.

But my heart, my heart is different.
It has eyes that see what I fail to see;
It caresses the scarring skin with delicateness,
And leads me to a place where the sun never sets.

I have a heart which I do not own;
For my heart is yours and yours alone.

My Everything
I peer through
And over the ledge
To feel a world
That I cannot grasp
But I can feel just fine
I reach out
And extend my palm
To feel the delicateness
Of the atmosphere
And I greedily **** in
This new sweet air
I move over the ledge
Without exposing my covered eyes
Unmarred by my own delusions
Or apprehension
With a euphoria
Of an indescribable
Addicting feeling
That I am sure
Can only be known here
I feel weightless
And completely unbound
As I step off
The ledge to see a new
Existence below me
Enveloped in this sweetness
Somewhere between
This dimension
And the next
I welcome the foreign
Ticking? Tapping?
Feeling
On my pores
And savor the nectarous
Ringing sound of
Something not unlike bells
And only then do I
Know that it
Is safe to
Open my eyes and
Drink in my
True home
I do not know
Or care where
This world is
I only know
And care
That it is
My
Everything

final breaths of rain
as a barrage of sighs on concrete waves
the deadline for their journey unfinished
wails of the storm
it shrieks for children crushed
by their own momentum
wishing it could cling to its babies
until time ceased
and with it
they could stay
forever
taut delicateness
in rueful tears
vibrantly transparent
fragments rise to the ancient gestures
of golden fingers
tendrils of vaporous labor
assimilate to form a smoky embryo again
birthing another generation
destined to fall

If you can only pertain,
or retrieve your sincere delicateness,
my love, with you,
for the rest of time,
everything revolves around us,
swarms and adjoins together,
loose yet holding,
and there again a bright star,
is a sign of our existence,
under its lowly light,
our shadows touch,
and here like hope,
like a cordial bow of a blue mannequin,
I bring my love to you:
kind, persistent, naked like an alabaster jar.

My mother, you see, dresses in armor
as if war waged everyday
her mind is a catapult
her expression contours
and her teeth jeers
at the end of the day she'll say, mo wakata?

sorry mother, not today

her bones juts and creaks
her body worn from strains of life
her wobbly, crooked knees strike one another
with every feeble step in strife

her cheeks cascade like eery angular cliffs
and a crow's nest of hair, wiry and black
tumbles down her head
mother, what can I do for you?

Born in Japan
and now married to a foreign land
in hands of a backwards society
who merely acts like jesting skeptics  
they treat her family as a minority
for what?

they whisper, look at her dark squinting eyes
tiny, wiry stature
and no-nonsense attitude
no, she's not cruel
she just knows better than most

but they'll never take time to look at her
or listen to her when she speaks
and at the end of the day she says , mo wakata?
I'm afraid I do not
okasan, gomennasai I say

yet grateful, I am, for the same angular eyes
wiry hair and handsome ethnicity
your iron will strives me to go farther, deeper
to explore ever crook, every
perk of what it is to be alive
I am starting to see life
with the same air of humility  

yet on those diamond occasions
when your fingernails sting of dirt
and poignant flowers barricade
the cold mess beyond
a garden of delicateness embedded in every touch
and moving with Asian maternity
stone paths weaves through
fabric of nature's vanity

her love is etched within the soil
I see her stooped body
outside my window
as she tends her garden
and at the end of the day, when she says mo wakata?

hai, mo wakata, okasaan I say

life is not a battle
but the will not to wilt away
and as you care your garden relentlessly
you were, in fact, caring for me

every flower planted in soil
no matter rain or grey smoky skies
it spreads its lovely petals
and remembers to drink in the sun
even if there is not a sun
to drink in

You and I; we are both formidable
But then, like the thin line between its two definitions
We both live in each other's opposition

You.
You always had this grace—this delicateness and feebleness
That kind that would make anyone protect you with their lives
Not to mention the talent you were blessed at birth
The way notes would dance in accord with your fingers—how formidable

I.
My sight would always give people chills down their spines
That kind that would make you either fight or flight
With the cold demeanor I was cursed upon birth
Like how I would twist the words from my mouth.

You.
You were everything the world wanted—only more, nothing less
Can you see how their eyes would spark upon your descant?
You were a living, walking goddess upon mortals
And you were the kind of formidable one would stare in awe.

I.
I was nothing the world wanted—nothing more, only less
In how I would see the hatred in their lids at the mention of my name
I was the epitome of Lucifer incarnate, disrupting serendipity
And I was the kind of formidable everyone would want to be gone.

Us.
Yes, we are both formidable
You elegantly, I grotesquely
And the thought of us, meeting even just once
Will only be this pitiful mind's apparition.