When I look at you,
I remember my last Summer.
When I spend a day in Rome,
that day was so hot,
I was wearing stripes tee and Adidas cap,
Not a cute outfit, I admit.
Under the Sun, I walked by the crowd.
it was Fontana di Trevi
throw your dimes into the fountain, they said.
one dime, then you will go back to Italy.
two dimes, then you will find your true love.
Well, I've been always a fan of this superstitious thing,
Whenever I find a wishing well, or anything that will grant you a wish,
I'm on it.
So I turned my back to the fountain, and I threw two dimes behind my shoulder.
All at once.

And this Autumn, *I have you.

You realise your gaze,
As you watch the grace of her footsteps,
While she sings your favourite tune,
Through the hollows of her teeth,
Under the blankets of her breath.

One, two and three,
The purity of a clear glistened pool,
Coins of the unknown faith,
With the leather-slippered angel,
And the acrylic colours of Rome.

i hate how you're so utterly perfect
i wonder if other people also notice it
how your scattered freckles mimic the stars
little dipper's tail has made home by your lips

i hate your contagious smile, that look in your eyes
for your perfect boyfriend and his indie rock band
i am no longer myself; i am hopelessly tossing coins
and wishing to hold a constellation in my hand

you’re the light
radiating from a light bulb,
in a dark dust-filled room,
the molecules of air
become visible
when you look their way,

they appear as floating
clouds of pixels,
as though we’ve discovered
the software room
of existence
---
you look away
on the wall,
and I hope you realize
darling, I see none
but what your eyes
view, because light
still radiates from you
in this room,

you see a wall
cracked, grey, with Roman letters,
and I see
the Trevi fountain of Rome,
perhaps a little romance
would do us no harm  
---
you look my way,
with eyes so bright,
and my vision deteriorates
unable to see anything
like a car nearing
in the middle of the night,
and its head lights flashing,
blinded I become.

possibly looking into your eyes
blinds me,
and white all I see--
darkness.
---
I blink, once and again,
now,
I see vivid purple and blue
figures, faint
from looking your side for far too long.

(Ajna)

and perhaps,
this is how I love you,
everything I see
beams with happiness
as though the only Chakra
elevated is Anahata,
but when you leave,
my vision blurs,
and I never see the same again.

This is ancient land, this is
       hallowed ground, this is
21 kilometers worth of tunnels.  

Blood stops flowing after death
                                                          becaus­e the heart is no longer beating;
no longer forcing blood to gush through veins and arteries and vessels.  
It gets lazy, becomes stagnant.  
Slowly slides down to the
                                               lowest point on the body; creates a
                                          reddish purple discoloration on the skin
similar to a bruise, but not quite the same thing.  

          This is what I imagine the fifth level of the catacombs to look like:
                                           a reddish purple discoloration
                                          spread across my mother’s back.  

This is what I see when I close my eyes and rub them a bit too hard for a bit too long.  This is what I see when I look into a hole in the stone walls that is big enough to fit an infant.  This is what I see in the reflection of the Trevi Fountain.  This is what I see when I try to remember the shape of my mother’s sleeping body as it curled in on itself on top of a flat hospital mattress.  

The color of death is not black, is not white.  The
color of death is the color of blood: the way it looks
through the skin after having
                                                       hours and
                                                                ­            days and
                                 weeks to
slowly slink down into the
lowest bend of the body.  

This is the reddish umbra of the earth that the
                                                                             eclipsed moon hides behind.  
This is my body given for you.  
Take and eat.  
                                                  Do this is the remembrance of
                                                                ­                                                me.

I’m in the dream again:                not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.  Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo.  To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long.  Like the
neuron rupture before death.  To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.

Not the dream where                    I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye.  Behind
                                                                ­                               every street corner.
                                                                ­                   Every turn.  Every tunnel.  
      Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.

I’m in the dream where          the soil churned from the bottom to the top.  
                               where          the hand outstretched from the grave.  
                               where          my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry.  And it’s been so
                                                                ­                   long since he was hungry.  

“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. 
“He came back to me.”
                                        I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.  
                                        I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream,                   but
it just fits so perfectly.  That he would come back to her.  
That death would not be a barrier.  I can’t explain it.                It just is.  
My grandmother is a shell without him.  
The body that’s missing the limb.  
The body that keeps score.

I saw you in Roman Holiday years ago
but you are much thinner now
today is Monday
both you and your master have a day off
the sea horses make no waves
nor the Triton and the chariot

Wishing for a happy return
I stand with my back toward you
as done in the movie
and quickly toss
three five-hundred-lira coins

Hoping they won’t devalue too badly
before they hit bottom

Love letter to Rome:You have always been,and always will be my favorite city. Grand and magnificent like you,somehow you like me back.So many people have been desperately trying to approach you but I know they have failed.I selfishly know that I am the one for you even though you have thousands of mistresses who would like to throw their coins away in Fontana di Trevi and wait for hours to get into Vatican city.But I,standing in front of you can say that I am the luckiest,because I feel you through touches,winds,cobblestone roads,the roads to your past,and the people you nurtured.Like you,they took me in generously,they reach out,they communicate with me and embrace me.Rome,you may be everyone's heartthrob,you may be compared with thousands of glamorous cities,but don't forget I am the one who's always here praising you and adoring you for eternity.

I want to be a wish,
Something magnificent.
Considered so carefully,
Desired so deeply.

I want to be a wish
Be the flame
Of every birthday candle.
With eyelids closed tightly,
And breath blown ever so lightly.

In that moment
That second
That instant
Before breath
Escapes lips,
And the fire is extinguished
She believed in herself.
Believed in her wishes.

I am that girl
Curious,
Insightful,
Tenacious,
Yet bashful.  
Begging the question
Who will I be?
Answer me, wish
Please, pretty please.

I want to be a wish
That penny tossed in the Trevi.
One cent is practically worthless
But as a wish,
It's priceless.
All those shiny coins
Sink to the bottom.

Hope floats to the top
Reflecting light
Shimmering bright.
Each coin represents a child
Who bared the same gleam in their eye
Sparing the time
And a little change
To make a wish
Heal their pain.

I want to be a wish,
Something marvelous.
Breathtaking and beautiful
Absolute and metaphysical.

I want to be a wish,
That star shooting through the sky.
Captivating,
Stunning,
Sparkling,
Something worth remembering.

I want to be a wish,
That well kept secret.
Never to tell
In fear it will leave us.
Like a prayer said in the quite of the night.
We asking for something
Speaking to someone
We hold onto wishes,
As a way to create reason.

In a universe filled with millions
There’s an epidemic of loneliness.
Wishes give us this sense of purpose.
Aid us to not feel helpless.

One day your wish will come true
I am your wish speaking to you.

WHY DO I HAVE
TO BE MYSELF
ALL OF THE TIMES

I WISH I WERE
ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE
WHO HAVE TWO LIVES
DRAG QUEENS WITH DAY JOBS
ACTORS GONE MAD
A BIGAMOUS, WITH FAMILIES
IN TWO DIFFERENT CITIES
THOSE VEILED WOMEN
OF TEHERAN
AN UNDERCOVER SPY
OR A LAP DANCER IN MIAMI,
AND SOMEWHERE ELSE
A PROFESSOR OF SOMETHING

WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS
ALWAYS
WHY DOES MY NATURE
HAVE TO BE SO
PREDICTABLE

WHY DO I FALL IN LOVE
WITH THE SAME KIND
OF UNSUITABLE MEN
ALL OF THE TIMES
AT TWENTY, THIRTY
AND FORTY FIVE

WHY DO I DO
WHAT I´M SUPPOSED
EXPECTED,
KNOWN
TO DO

AND CAN´T ESCAPE THE RULE
AND CAN´T ESCAPE THE RULE
AND CAN´T ESCAPE THE RULE
TO SAVE MY LIFE

WHY DO WE ALL HAVE TO LIVE IN THIS
PRISON INSIDE

WHY DO I HAVE TO LOVE
MUSICIANS, JAZZ
AND ALWAYS SAY NO
WHEN SOMEONE ASKS
ME TO GO SNORKELING, OR PARASAILING
WHY CAN´T I
SAY YES ONE DAY
TO LINING UP FOR HOURS
TO SEE THE SIXTINE CHAPEL
INSTEAD OF HAVING
A GLASS OF WINE BY TREVI
WITH A GOOD FRIEND FROM PORTUGAL

OR CHOOSE THE MOUNTAINS BEFORE THE BEACH
OR LEARN TO SKI, AND SCUBA DIVE

WHY CAN´T I
SAY I LOVE STOCKHOLM
AND NOT LISBOA
PREFER PARIS TO BERLIN
OR SAN FRANCISCO TO ISTANBUL, THAT´S IN MY HEART

WHY DON´T I MARRY
A BUREAUCRAT
WITH NOT A DROP OF PASSION IN HIS SOUL
AND A CONTEMPT FOR ART
BALDING AND CHEERFUL
TILL WE BOTH DIE

WHY DON´T I START
TO DRESS LIKE NUNS
AND HIDE MY SHOULDERS
AND MY LEGS
FROM PASSERS BY

OR I COULD
JOIN A CULT
BECOME RELIGIOUS
START BELIEVING
IN SOMETHING

WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SO **** SMART
AND TRY SO HARD
TO BE LOVED BY EVERYONE

WHY DO I HAVE TO CRY
WITH EVERYTHING THAT MAKES ME
CRY

WHAT IS THE GOOD OF AN INTELLIGENCE
WHEN IT REASONS ALWAYS THE SAME
WAY
AND ALWAYS REACHES
THE SAME CONCLUSION

I ENVY
THOSE OTHER PEOPLE
THE MURDERER
WHO BECAME A PHILANTROPIST
THE PRIESTESS
WHO BECAME A *******
THE OLD MAN
WHO CAME OUT OF THE CLOSET
AT EIGHTY FIVE
FIVE CHILDREN AND TWO WIVES

CHANGE
CHANCE
AND ALL THINGS
UNFORESEEN
AND YET ARRIVED

A CHANGING NATURE
CHAMELEON MINDS

CHANGE
THAT IS THE ONLY
INTELLIGENCE
THAT MAN CAN HAVE

She was the type of girl who
Knew how to demand a man’s attention.
The smart ones gave her the best
They had, a full-service menu,
If you catch my drift?
They knew she’d reciprocate later,
Alligator, with the sweetest B.J.
This Side of Paradise,
(Forgive me, F. Scott)
Can you dig it, Mister?
We’re talking Mohammedan
Fantasy & Paradise here, Babaloo.
That’s the kind of girl she was, always
Screaming: “Attention Must Be Paid,”
Co-opting Mr. Loman, of course,
But unlike Willie, Ms. Hynde has a
Trevi Fountain full of Self-Esteem.
Going into the home stretch now,
Determined her last Act will be
Focused solely on Self-Actualization.
That’s the type she is.

I am autumn and you are spring
If any of this folderol even means a thing.
I’m a Virgo and you are an Aries sprite.
And somehow the combination fits just right.
If I chose tarot cards and you I Ching
That did not make the wedding bells ring.
Whatever the fates had in store for us two
Is exactly what we are dedicated to do.

You threw a coin into the Trevi fountain
We saw the future on a nearby mountain.
We knew we were matched together for life
Happy newlyweds, two husbands, no wife.
After six months asking important questions
We were sure this was the right proposition.
Some people warned us to take a full year
But we read the signs and they were very clear.

We saw or talked to each other every day
Diving into the words we heard the other say.
It was essential that we learned everything;
Who the other really was and would bring
To a lifetime relationship for two individuals
Determined to keep the relationship in the middle.
There seemed to be nothing there to reject;
We were both what we needed, imperfectly perfect.

We were equally determined to stay ourselves
And put the fairy tales on a childhood shelf
And not expect the other one to ever change.
Some people implied to us that idea was strange.
My friends saw traits in him they urged me to stop.
The same was true of him, but we were not cops.
Instead I cherished the person I saw as great.
He did the same so we did not need to wait.

Now, today, it’s twenty eight years of love
As if we had the blessings from above.
It’s like planets aligned and are blessing us
In some kind of personal Age of Aquarius.
We've had to climb over some gnarly spots
But we're more than happy with what we got.
We got a partnership, love that lasted a lifetime.
So, we wanted to share it with you in this rhyme.

One long endless night passes yet again,
Never mind counting sheep, I’m now counting flocks.
The days blur into dreams of classics...
I am Ahab, and sleep becomes my whale!

Countless twinkling lights mock me through the open window
Judging me from their perch in the night sky above.
I eat another bowl of meaningless carbs,
Hoping the article on my Twitter feed wasn’t just fluff,
I load and reload the harpoon, as I miss my shot time and time again.

I fade again. Woozy now. Eyes slow blinking...
The whale is smiling, it's tail flipping, and mouth all grinning, stabbing teeth. I fire and miss.
He laughs, ignoring this, and drenches me in ****.
He flashes me a toothy grin as he disappears underwater.
He isn't coming back.

My bed becomes a porcupine.
My pillow becomes a stone.
My blanket becomes a sheet of burs woven by the Norns.
My eyelids become coarse-grade sandpaper.
My back becomes a banshee screeching in pain.
My legs become restless deer who sense a nearby wolf.
My hair begins growing perversely inward.
My bladder becomes the Trevi Fountain in Rome.
My thoughts become the last horses running the Triple Crown.
My heart becomes a double bass playing Skeletons of Society.

He appears again, far away from my ship, head turning in the distance, pity on his face.
He turns back toward the open sea and is gone.
I perform a complex horizontal maneuver
That CNN’s Dr. Gupta said soothes "The sleepless body at night".
(He’s a ******* liar!)

The melting white whale becomes a series rectangles above me,
They form a drop ceiling,
With sprayed-on popcorn, and unexplained little holes
That provide me with a giant connect-the-dots ceiling!

WHEN suddenly a shrill, repeating, soul-crushing
Cacophony wracks what little sanity remains within me, trapped in this never-ending, soul-crushing trap of mind-numbing numbidity...

It's that God-forsaken, three-inch square, , ***** capitalist *******-of-a-red-blinking-*******-of-a-heartless-mother telling me it’s time to start a new day...

******* alarm!

I still haven’t finished the last one.

I want to wake up in Singapore.
Open my window and feeling the hot Sun on my face.
Thank God it's a clear blue sky. No haze, no anything.
Just a really hot Sunny day.
I order dumplings, char keow teow and teh peng in one of the hawker place.
What a pleasant breakfast before I walk into a local coffee shop to sip a glass of iced Caramel Macchiato.

I want to spend an afternoon in Volendam.
Feeling the ocean breeze & the Sun on my face.
I want to eat fresh Seafood platter & a bottle of beer for my lunch.
& walk around the local shops & buy cute souvenirs.
I will take a break and sitting by the deck. In quiet.
Even everyone around me is pretty loud.
I think I will live here when I get old.

I want to spend an Evening in Rome.
Just walk out from the Vatican, and now I'm in Rome.
I want to ride my bike to the wondrous Fontana di Trevi
I will get there before the Sun in down so I have the chance to take photos before everything gets dark.
I'm not going to throw pennies on it. No.
I will only see the magical statue & lick my Gelato over here.

I want to spend a night in Paris.
It never be my first love,
but when I step my foot for the second time,
seeing all these beauties, I fall in love.
I fall in love with their arrogance & their ignorance.
It would be a cold night, with a little bit of drizzle.
It's what they always said right?
Rainy midnight in Paris is always magical.
I will get a nice dinner near the Eiffel Tower,
leaving myself in awe,
sipping my red wine,
before I finally walk to the Icon of Paris.
Maybe I will take a boat tour, maybe I just will spend a night at one of the parks, looking at the Tower.
Before finally, I walk to one of their antique yet beautiful shophouses.
& call it a night for today.

When you visit Rome, it is as if history beckons,
All other thoughts are secondary to reckon,
Stunning architecture and ruins does the mind conjure,
While being tempted to look at the bigger picture

Marble sculptures adorn numerous buildings and landmarks,
Their sheer size and natural look surely leave a mark,
Said to be influenced by the ancient Greeks,
And perfected by the Romans as seen in most tweaks

Vatican is reportedly the smallest state in the world,
Christianity hails it as the holiest place in the world,
The City's museums, chapels and gardens lend a scenic splendor,
Making it an enchanted place with little to wonder

St Peter's Basilica is one of the largest churches in the world,
It's sprawling mosaic interior and impressive art is way out of this world,
The incredible Michalengalo dome will always be entrenched in one's memory,
Climbing atop the dome for a panoramic city view is anything but dreary

St Peter's Square is the vast spectacular square in the Vatican,
It is quintessential with an opulent air that no one can question,
Majestic columns and pilasters flanking the square are an architectural marvel,
That it can hold more than a quarter million people is for the mind to unravel

The Sistine Chapel is proof of Michalengelo's transformation from sculptor to painter,
Reflected in the ceiling depicting the Book of Genesis's nine episodes as you saunter,
The gallery paintings portray detailed maps of the world in the sixteenth century,
Remaining etched in visitors' memories when leaving the Vatican eventually

The iconic Flavian Amphitheatre (Colosseum) is a major landmark in Rome,
Majestic arched entrances and thoughtfully designed seating impress as you roam,
The arena and cages where gladiators combated wild animals bring painful memories,
Of a ****** sport that people flocked to witness, as if in a reverie

Trevi fountain's theatrical architectural marvel is a sight to behold,
Little wonder that visitors come in droves with so much to be told,
Coins thrown in the water portend a return visit in Rome's favor,
Group euphoria and endless clicking of selfies are memoirs to savor

Spanish Steps is famous for its elegance and unique design,
The Barcaccia Fountain at it's base adds to the scenic outline,
People relax for hours at this traditional meeting place,
The annual summer fashion show here though, is never commonplace

Rome is no exception to Italy's famed gelato,
People slurp on cones with considerable gusto,
Gelato is creamier and denser than ice cream,
Its such subtle differences that make it a scream

Rome, as the rest of Italy, is a gourmet's delight,
Trattorias, aka informal ristorantes are a common sight,
People swarm these eateries that offer great variety for a bite,
Can there be a better way to whet one's appetite?

It is a city that is always teeming with tourists,
With a colorful spontaneity that is difficult to resist,
Brings to mind literally the phrase "All roads lead to Rome",
As memories continue to linger long after one heads back home

In Vatican City a cardinal walks
resolutely forward, his red train
flowing behind longer than a bride’s.

It’s silhouette passes by the open
windows of the atelier reflecting
crosses over the bodices of the
tailor’s latest scarlet creations.

Another black smoke day rises from
the chimney of the Sistine Chapel.

Blood shadows slowly abandon
St. Peter’s square for the trek home.

The sun’s golden trail will soon yield
to the purple plush of a Roman night.

its spectral color will caress the shoulders
of the woman with the straw hat and
black dress wanting to dance in the Trevi;

the black suit businessman ignoring
his even blacker shadow cast on
the terra cotta wall of his dextral side;

the young mother nursing her infant in
the safe T between ***** and clavicle,
praying to the priest behind the screen.

Roosters and swampy leaches,
always attacking the Georgia peaches,
darkened chasms oozing stench,
trying to control the velvet trench.

Leering eyes stare out at mountains,
saliva drools, like Trevi fountain,
imaginations in overdrive,
thinking about creating lives.

In the sty, squealing lies,
as the fairer fire fries,
in the grease, they exuded,
and the things, which they alluded.

The world is remodeling,
Can you feel it: did you hear it?
Black on black crime: The new Norm:

The Jim Crow laws were a system of anti- black laws.
These laws were made to keep black people lower than the white people .
The harsh punishments of these laws included being treated as a lower part of humanity.

Will this Black lives matter crash or will it
Seek black folk’s justice?

Who would have the sea any color the mint green
Or the school buses any color that yellow
Or the American green dollar
Now trim with black and red

Forget about the silver and gold coin, tossed them
In the Trevi Fountain:
just to please the madness
in some human’s hearts

look how those short two to three minute video
Often goes viral, in a nanosecond
And the lives of others can changes in a week

Oh, this new world is not coming together
Not much to say about those new executive orders
slow them down please! Slow them down.
No one love this worldly changes,
Especially the churches,
or what is left of the human race
Due bear in mind the ozone layer
Appreciate, the three months break

Pollution has declined and traffic jams have all but vanished.
but the increase of the Taser guns shot up
More than the shooting range

And when I called out to debunks this life
With all its beauty, its problems
God whisper to me, we need our poets
We need they spoken words and they written voices
we need a new Garden of Eden
     ,

Straight to Heaven

You could be a painting hung in the Louvre,
in your very own display. I watch you as the protagonist
in a Miller play. When you talk I’m listening to a Wolfgang Amadeus opera of modern day, your skin, blood red

porcelain, diaphoresis fire. You might think I’m crazy. But it’s not anyone who makes me feel this way. I read you as The Great Gatsby, the highbrow of society. You make me gush, as the Trevi, in old Italy. You walk as a GQ model wearing Armani. I smell

you Straight to Heaven, such an inspiration. You awaken
all my senses, woods, musk, the earth. I walk through
your smile as Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny, actually I’m floating up in the trees. If I go any higher I’ll reach

other galaxies. Your eyes are sapphires, I swear were stolen
from the queen. You would taste as Dom Perignon poured
in a goblet of Waterford, every sip a crystal drop resting on

my lips. You might think I’m crazy. But it’s not anyone
who makes me feel this way. I would say that you’re
humble. You don’t see your own reflection in the pool. That’s what’s makes me love you. That’s what makes you beautiful.

Ponte Sant’Angelo,
my thumb brushes
her crimson emblem.

Images slosh in my head of her
cycling, channelling
her inner Hepburn,

sleep and poetry on the steps,
talcum swirl of a *** and raisin gelato,
tiddlywinking a Euro into the Trevi.

This is stop four
on her grand tour,
gap year girl

glugging the lingo. I touch again
her Ciao in curly black,
her **, her airmailed red peck.