Another breakfast aloneWon’t wash the bedsheetsCan’t lose the scent of your cologneThese words will dry on their ownAll these things that I’ve done
Category: Poetry
Home
Home is where the fences are cinder blocks,radiating heat well into the night.Home is where the shit on the streetis from ornamental plums,and not migrating ducks and geese.Home is knowing where the garlic salt isin the kitchen.Home is where your dog is.Home is waking up to the sun everyday,10 months…
To be young again!
To be young again!To jump on cracks, breaking Mama's backTo run from the shadows of a cloud on a spring dayTo skip to my Lou, fall down from a ring of rosesHopscotch, and jump-rope, and down down babyTo be Enlightened by curiosityTo examine the world through science, reasonTo believe in…
Superlove
I won't let you in, I'll fight you to the endToo close, I can no longer be your friendLove ends, where hate beginsYou are which of the seven holy sins?Hold you down, surrender to meMission to the black hole of a distant galaxyYou make me strong, can no longer denyThe…
Music to My Ears
Fruitful and productiveTired and antisocialEmotions that define my life I have seen wonderful thingsCelebrate milestones with loved onesI am a true gastronomeYet I feel alone in a crowded room It is time to stop dwelling on the negativityAnd let the sunshine inIt is time to believe all the storied words…
Things That Are Full Of
Things that are full of musicCascade like a waterfallDown the coin slotChirping in acceptance,once, twice, three times luck be a lady. They call me the One-Armed BanditThe meadow in the Wild WestWords and music under the gunOf the tiger's sun. The Ballad of Michael ValentineCould be a country song,but isn'tTelling…
Fields of Elisium
The battlefield in my headis littered with the loversI'll never bed, let alone wedSee me ride the light of loveTo a place inside his heartFalling below the mists, undertowSinging the praises of an unknown soldier,Broken apart by the promise of releaseFight with me, beside me, inside meBehind me, roller-coaster ride…
When I Was Naive
We practiced our haibun in my grad school poetry class. This was my result. The tsinelas on my feet do not protect me from the grains of sand. My mother's pale skin is a gentle reminder for me to protect my face from the sun, so I don't get tan…
Distortion
Where are you from, a person is often asked.Where indeed? I have no answer. My eyes are slanted, but I'm not Oriental.I'm not a rug, don't tread on me.My jeans are Levi's, but I'm not a stadium.Don't play games with me.My feet are blistered, but I don't wear high heels.I…
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In response to Lâm Thị Mỹ Dạ's Bomb Crater Sky. Dad served two tours in the war,a media circus of Ohio hippies andescapes from Saigon via helicopterLit by the fireworks on the nightly news,gilded in the blood of the conscripts,photographed by Leica. Building roads as a Seabee,cleaning the mud caked…