Cotquean
eight / times before, / I saw those lifeless eyes, / How lonely, like a cat / My disrupter, my – Cotquean – …
Go to Post >>eight / times before, / I saw those lifeless eyes, / How lonely, like a cat / My disrupter, my – Cotquean – …
Go to Post >>In the photo they put on her grave
she wears a shell pendant, and you
feel the ocean behind her, the wind.
I remember her in many occasions,
but especially twice…
Swinging out colossus-scale glass doors
sucks us: air-conditioned playhouse chill
to suffocating Taipei summer
nights’ muggy embrace in Chang Kai-Shek
memorial—no, Liberty square…
When my grandmother died, I was pregnant. My mother told the funeral, even though she was forbidden to do so. Good news had to be shared. And my aunts said, “A life for a death,” they kissed me, and put their hands on my belly. When my grandfather died, I was driving on the highway. It was pouring rain, the
Go to Post >>This poem contains imagery and references to bodily harm and human blood.
Now, Nabila’s digestive
system frowns at meat intake — she retches
on perceiving the smell of Suya or
any kind of barbeque—
They say I’m different
I’m not Mister, but Madam
Yet how different am I really?
This metaphor pans back mythical galores to that
Of Eve and Adam…
Go to Post >>I have been growing avocados because I like the idea that one day there will be a tree. That there will be a tree because of me. First, the stones, they must be blanketed in damp kitchen roll and kept warm and safe, until a crack appears, and then, maybe a week or so later, there will be a root,
Go to Post >>Copper night knocks
On the back of the head, asks:
“What street is this?”
And this is not a street,
This is the whole life…
They were everywhere, falling—leaping—into my hand. Purple bruises of perfection. They bled onto me, stained me. I gave them my whole body…
Go to Post >>I hear they’re burning paintings now.
Today it was a piece by Alice Neel.
A half-finished portrait of James Hunter,
who was due to leave for Vietnam that week
and never returned for the second sitting…
red belly / white shelled filled with dirt:
What would you say if I said
I want to be a girl in all the wrong
ways and a boy just the same
29 years to finally meander meaning
“No, that’s my government name.”…
The cows have gone to sleep
as I walk through this park covered in sand
under brisk seaside breeze,
next to the hilled-terrain of cityscape—
marriage of metropolitan hustle with the stillness of the Sound,
marriage: the thing we didn’t do,
everywhere: the screech of tires— breaking…
This prince of silver
carved his hips into
the sacred wood of a violin,
all hard muscle and f-holes finally desired.
This prince of silver
rings his hair in precious metals,
like shining mail, all the way down
to the newly v-shaped curve
of his core’s sharpness…
Pile of luggage, topmost holdall.
Double armed Gallows
Bagel Orifice
Strutting Man with hand in pocket
Boa Constrictor
Wigwam…
Gliding through the half-dark, this preternatural humidity caresses my skin like an unseen lover. I am the moth’s muffled flight through twilight, borne by the hum and whir of bicycle wheels. I’m seeking the moon — or hoping it finds me. Jagged teeth of buildings gnash against the skyline. This city — lock-jawed in lockdown, holding me hostage for months, clamped tight on us all — finally
Go to Post >>Make me Irresistible
Such that no desire
Is left unchecked
In my presence.
Make me Large,
Make me so big
Every wall and sea
Parts upon beholding me…
& still my heart clenched / in her tight little fist. / & still / your kaleidoscope irises / imprinted / into my chewed bubblegum core. / & still rose petal blind. & still stitched / to that yellow mattress. & / still. / & still / a coal mine throat / stolen canary. / & still the moon. /
Go to Post >>By the time you receive our message,
you should be turning 15!
If we calculated correctly.
This is rocket science, after all…
By sheer coincidence, our five-year anniversary happened to fall on the longest day of the year. Neither of us were particularly superstitious nor into astrology, but the summer solstice was said to bring forth luck, which we considered a good omen and yet another reason to go big on celebrations…
Go to Post >>i asked you not to love me so
you put it in a brown paper bag and left
it on the front seat of my car…
Can I live with the denial of your love?
Patches from codices of parchment, a rich repository of my love.
Today, thy hands committed libricide
and I wonder why these thoughts won’t just go away
— my taboo love or this taboo act?
Effervescently swathe us is in the sparkly glare of now — slippery skin spellbound
H
2
O
bubbling— just below the surface…
Go to Post >>i. You ask me how I’m doing and we both know there’s no way I’d ever answer that without lying. You say love isn’t made for people like us— we’re too rational for it. I tell you that I’m a secluded person, I chase the people that hate me. I don’t know why I do it, but I do it.
Go to Post >>Shimmering skin, your bioluminescence effervesces,
cupid eyes and claret cheeks, lips bow-shaped,
your August-boiled blood keeps us both warm
the whole year round…
die and you will be great
says the devil in the shade of the poplar…
On the first day I can call you mine, I cocoon my arms around you in the / heart of the kitchen. You envelop cellophane around our / picnic foods…
Go to Post >>Grab the barbie by her blonde hair
& twist her head off in one turn. Remember
your best friend’s words: only stupid girls dye their hair;
remember his words next time you see a nest of burnt wires
clogged in your shower drain…
This farce again. I’m city-bound. Watch the carnival of consumerism roll by my window, these come-hither neon seductions. I’m just here for socks and coat-hangers — we all know how that song goes. Extricate self from tram, self from the spill of humanity, the close proximity which cues anxiety. Extricate, land on pavement and — it’s all in my face.
Go to Post >>A dyslexic in an alphabet reversed,
the universe looping both flaccid and disjointed:
noodles, macaroni, dot, dash,
a Morse code, impenetrable except for instances
the rest tramples…
grandma carpet succumbing to its age sun-bleached, shoe-scuffed, buckling near the walls 25 years of footsteps…
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