rain

rain. again.
the young man is talking to his buddy
in a flooded hallway
too polite to sit on the white plastic chair
too pointless
the botanist and the weatherman
finger-counting what grows
and what collapses in the rain

here, where water comes from every direction,
the piece of ceiling that keeps you dry
is your darling friend. the cry over the phone
of your brokenhearted sister is a dream
you once dreamed.
the man to whom she's betrothed is
an unfounded myth - soon will be
washed away

fear is time-constrained
the water, the earth, the marriage
the demolition under the mud,
what's put to sleep - or who -
the history of love/life,
quietly decoded

worn

what in hell happens to the water running free?
this morning I lived up the unhappy session
laughing at the blocked flow
my canoe bumping around
"why those tears," one asked
oh, I've got million things to say
but it wouldn't be necessary
a redundancy, I should say
time is precious, is it not?
but who can predict
perhaps someday I really will stop
running away
or be stopped by a current

the spool

when the grey clouds swarm over my head,
I just move an inch away from your soul
we’ve learned to march on, we part, we hesitate
your dark side knows why a song climbs to a climax
then, your decrescendo and
the tinkling of my empty glass on the table

which spool is playing now? our bodies lie still,
un-betrothed, thus the story goes, thus the story will end
ears impaired by cries of the souls groping for the light
your eyes grow tired, my words do little to ease up
our symmetrical margins keep building and collapsing

we pretend we’re innocent of the fraud
we don’t say that we need to destroy to live

this is for another repetition, now moving in lethargy
heavy-eyed, untangling the night
from this prison cell

stupid longing,
when one is allowed a good sleep?

tea

cinnamon orange tea, with a slush of Midwest fall
in the white “Wizard of Oz” cup
it’s going down the sink – the tea
it’s going to fly out of the window – the cup
your hand has committed crime of neglect
it has lost its authority to hold up or down
my sanity – all that can keep
a good glass of tea from being wasted

of the so many things we’re guilty of
there is sour we left in each other’s insides
what you’ve left you may not lay claim to
what I threw up is what I’d betrayed

past winter, past the dead souls
I’m not yet okay though I shun
those who read the signs on me
what do they know?
what do you know of the lives of
the blood suckers?
I hide from the white lights

cinnamon orange tea in the cup that still holds up
my hands know the warmth and are patient
after all, they won’t wait forever
nothing will – we’re all bound to
have a sip before we go

en route to J-town

dirty laundry we dump elsewhere
this hotel room,
these thoughts of quitting,
restarting, these rented
whispers in the ear,
those looming dark clouds over me -
are to be read
time to go

home,

the elsewhere
endometrium

a souvenir for my babies

maybe it was you who put the
daffodil under my window
didn’t you hear what I said?
I could not pick it up
I could not read the intention
and fathom the death
or live with your ghost

you, in my history,
should remain an unjustified
anecdote, but what is rumor
if not meant to tease those
whose eyes would better be
blind?

maybe it was you I meant
to write on the pages
with a borrowed pen and
a tender rub on the skin
maybe it was you I shared
a bed with, on the day when
everybody else was sleeping
maybe it was us who lay awake,
active, restless,
always wanting to run,
always wanting to fly

maybe it was me who wanted
to perch on your tree
maybe it was me who walked
across your way only to be
murdered, maybe it was you
who read the ill signs
then spread the rumors

what are rumors if not
for us to expose and hide
and continue living?

others, in our history,
should remain blind

a flip-flop song

perhaps we create you and me
to make life more bearable
but who are you? who am I?
we don’t even see each other again
did you see the new shade on my lids?
and I didn’t witness a hair coming
it’s all random pictures
you look awful with hair, I tell you,
your pony tail is not sexy
but you never listen
I know I make you happy
like yesterday
when we called each other by our
diminutive (some genitalia) names
have I told you you write better
when you’re happy? and I – I,
contribute to that?
at other times we fight
we bleed, we hide the blood,
we annoy each other less,
but say countless of “shoot,” “shit,”
“fuck,” and “stupid”
and more and more desperate
poems are produced, re-produced,
discarded, and wept over
we become agnostic of each other

I don’t remember your smell – I mean
your true smell, because you dab perfume
over your sweaty body
over the smell of another woman’s sex
on your body -- all of those
go all the way into my
intestines

I’m sure you’ve forgotten the pain
of me pulling the hair in your arm
I'm sure you've vomited me

and I read you reply:
Agnes, shut your fuckin mouth up!

.

those pictures speak
aloud. they holler
they make fun of
me. aku. stupid.
that ballerina on
your lap
the crotch
one of my legs
used to rest on

Life in the morning

Life was her name. She woke up this morning to find out that she was only half of her. She went to the mirror to see if it was still deceptive as said in many references she had read. The mirror is deceptive, my dear. No. Especially her fingers from that surviving half of her could feel the rough edges of what used to be her middle part, seen vertically. Shit! How am I gonna drink my coffee like this? She started out with the walk, of course. It was always a good sign of independence. Look at babies! On your foot! She looked at her toes – the nails were painted metallic green from the night before. She only half remembered, but her only half mouth still could taste that Paulaner beer she deplored yet couldn’t resist her buddies had brought in. I think I danced a bit, yes. And probably hit my head against the poker table last night. Who knows? Her half-regained consciousness reminded her to stop bothering about the past because it wasn’t there anymore anyway. Walk. Walk. Walk. … No. That couldn’t be it. That was not how to call it now that she only had a half head and face, half torso, a leg, a foot, an arm – a whole half body. Walk, according to the American Oxford Dictionary is "move at a regular and fairly slow pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once" … no shit. So big deal. She learned how to move from one spot to another, to put it simply. She hit a wall and all, but she managed to get to the kitchen. Brewing a cup of coffee was a pretty tough quest with her unpardonable situation. But she laughed. She wished she could slice the cup in halves to have “a half cup of coffee” just like Alice in her insane tea party with March Hare and Mad Hatter. While waiting for her half cup of coffee to be ready, Life motioned to the glass sliding door, opened the blinds and the door, leaving the screen door shut just enough to make her feel the cold breeze. She felt pain in her improperly cut parts. There was a price for curiosity. But go on keep your curiosity alive. You’ll get cuts and bruises as a bonus! Was it the meaning behind that narcissistic cat’s grin? She wondered. Chesire Cat. How could a warning be tempting? How tedious, she thought. That was a game she had learned for quite a while. She carved a grin on her half face with some difficulty. There. Smile at your own misery. Her only nostril smelled the coffee and her ear heard no more hiss from the coffeemaker. It pumped her a bit. She walked back to kitchen. With ease. With a simple joy of having been able to brew a half cup of coffee. Walk? Of course. Didn’t I tell you she got pumped up? Though not entirely, no! Why ‘most’ if you can get enough with some ‘more’? Life is not whole yet, but it is not half either. Life is three-quarter with just a missing 'f'.

[april 12, 2007]

and so

do you want this bread or not?
it smells like and gives the same effect as
beers you don't drink
it's waiting to be thrown away

when we were at the railings,
looking down at those fancy chairs
and napkins, and heads,
what were we laughing at?
the coffee that didn't quite go
with me wondering if you
were a gay or not?
the occasion that was
almost as stupid as what it
turned out much later?
what i had read from the start
missing from your face and
your palm?
you were like passion fruits,
you noticed?

what we do. instead of.
instead of. you never did.
fun as always. pain as always.

i can only curse
i can only love
and hesitate in between

don't be

don't be a stranger, love
just go away now while i still
smell your perfume in my hair

when you go, love
leave a random journal on
a tombstone with a name
- a history you whispered
as morning crept in
take no notice of
what i'm keeping

move my leg tenderly
i'll do the rest
you sneak out
away i turn from you
run if you will
the wind dries away
the wet on the face

don't be a stranger, love
ghost in my haunted ship
the sweet, the love, the
careless jerk
you

then and now

i'm an alumna of "life is heavy" school
do you remember?
when dad died of lies and heavy pills
and mom died alone, eyes not properly
shut. do you remember?
i was so attentive. sickly but
serene, and attentive
you made poems of me like i
ceased to be living
i rented a big love to you
you wouldn't be able to
pay me
i fed your eyes with longing
for my saliva
where were you when i was
on my death bed?

"life is so light" said the doctor
it is only an outline,
a dwarf's wish to kiss the
giant's forehead
so where are you now when i'm
all right and tentatively happy?
what do you fill your pockets with?
will i find you on the riverbed?

we'll play with my hat on

i know this game
and i still want it

looks like ee's a knee breaker
so? even better!
i can exercise my new
theories
both of us will play
ping pong during the day
the loser will swear at
the winner, who will
fuck ee before leaving
we'll take partners
and be kind enemies
we'll keep the table
green and white
we'll bump
and injure knees

we'll rest in the evening
what's my detail, doctor?
what's her detail? wait,
maybe i know
i'll crawl on the mirror
up to ee's knees

we will kiss
we will hate
we will die alive
be a lover of mine, monster!
keep playing. let's keep playing,
even if my theories prove wrong

lame game

i catch your eyes
catching mine
nothing
was it the words
coming out from
my mouth?
was it my mouth -
which moves at my
brain's command?
was it my white lace?
or my curls?
nothing?

i say things you pretend
you can say back
you spell formulaic words
you think i want to hear

"i'm all yours from now on,"
said you. ah, you!
"what should i say, thank you?"
you laugh uneasy laughs
you can't lie better,
can you?
admiration
differentia
may i shrug it off
my shoulders?
this is too predictable
this is too sweet
this is so you-people

one of these days
i'll stop passing judgments
i'll come towards you
i will touch you

the hell with angry glares
we'll break nothing -
almost
no need to fret
my want of you is strictly
limited. our rent is
almost due

x devalued

we don't need us,
not anymore
we have our own depths
too deep for each of us
to dive into without
damage
safety, one-life-ness,
it doesn't decode
as it used to
i have seeds inside
my earth, you have
chlorophylls elsewhere
to sing for with your
warm secret codes
your sickness,
or its illusion,
is only a night's
drunkenness
i've got my change
spent on smalls,
cigarettes,
stuffed animals
my name you call
only in the dark
it hits the wall -
cold, uncaring wall
you wondered,
you wished, but
you didn't touch
i did, i did then. so,
though i smelled your
ghost in the bus
yesterday afternoon,
i took no steps

you should remain one
with no material substance
i'm your reasonable mute

that boy's grudge

i saw him
coming out of the
yellow building
take my nearsightedness,
my lighting up a cigarette,
his sexually based grudges -
i acted otherwise

hey boy, have i hurt you somehow?
what's all this shit about?
i thought it'd been done with
what are you, some
Prince of Baghdad?
did I leave a stain on
your rug?

need. need. now.
i know. come if we have
the same. either way,
it's a regret. though
not so much

he's been all over me
so i smoke him away
half-running across the street,
he leaves the yellow building
for my eyes to lick

fed up

to be honest with you,
i really am sick of you
so sick i got to move
to a distant table when
that stupid mentioned
your name

among all other tedious things
there's food i've got to finish here
that shouldn't be called in vain
my grace, if ever i say it,
is not for you

true loves do end
we do get things up to the neck

my ride

this way to get to my van
it's messy i hope you don't mind
what sports do you do?
i'll teach you racquetball one of these days
yes, i'll be a good teacher for you
we'll go to my place on wednesday
rehearse in my garage
we can get something to drink
after that
i'll pick you up,
i'll get you home
you're from india, am i wrong?
so what's your plan?
do you have a boyfriend?
oh, i'm sorry
yes, i do have a girlfriend
we've been dating for four years
she's been asking me to marry her
but i'm holding back
married-folks-stop-being-cool club?
movies'll be great
let's do that
i'm glad i'm taking you home
you know i can take you every day
just give me a holler if you need me
you don't go to campus every day?
well, catch you later, agnes!

wind! wind! wind!

we kids

i'm a kid
when i'm with you
you, a little less

you're a kid
i wanna teach you
make a collage
from your mess

your tears
my blood
your fucking pride
my years
your tongue
my fingertips
your smell
my lies
your hand
on my belly

we're kids
we're lying here
mad and
naked

what how

what? you fucked too hard or what?
he said. jokingly, of course.
fuck off! I said.
it’s weird. to talk like this,
with him. the way we are now.
hope you’re ok by now though
betrayal can be easy and sweet
when you’ve come to this stage
I’m not bleeding no more,
got my color back and all
that – if you’d like to call it a
betrayal at all

[recently I dragged a friend into
my grey area, its different shades
guess it made her dizzy
she didn’t get it, but who does?
“see, it’s not easy to love me,” I said.
“yet he passed it. completely.”
wasn’t easy. was crazy. completely.
“how? by setting you free?”
and that rose tattoo on his chest
sorry, Hun. gotta be stuck there
for the rest of your life!]

I am good, celebrating life at my own
British-radio-drama pace
I still love the same people dearly
love them again and again and again
I just ain’t in love with any of them
or anyone new in particular
flings and coffees (and a few smacks)
is all I can afford
this is still the time and place
I don’t belong

hey, about that ugly mattress, I said,
throw it away when I get home
he protested, saying that he and his
Belgian lady friend never did it there
oh, men! whatev, but

a whole new, nice bed is all I want
when I get home
all other things can wait
so what? and how?
this. this, my dears.

(not too) bad

after all, that wasn't all that bad
your frustration is not my problem
this morning,
despite those shitty things,
you did one thing just right

[when you whispered let it go in my ear
you didn't really listen, did you?

I forgave you. you're safe by me

how about that?

so much you've gotta learn -

again, it's none of my business]

it was

your arms
your hands
you took me
my skin

givin up under the blue blanket
like unborn babies

bad

this is just a rant
after something bad
no regret, well,
a little perhaps

after deciding to go bad
why could I not be the best of that?
how could I stand being
moderately bad?

I was bad
I couldn't make you bad enough
I should have
I have years and more ahead
what's of that?

what bad is
I don't feel bad
about your bad feeling
we were solos,
that time, bad ones

if I'm asked how I felt
it was down there
no fakes, honest!
my chest wasn't burning
but something else was
down there

too bad even that
you found bad

too bad I couldn't hide it
that, yes, you were bad
couldn't you stand it?

you were bad
I was bad, I wasn't bad enough
that was bad!

over

i am buried
with the old edition of you
at the bottom of
the log,

under the title
"you,
may blue"

yellowing

again, light a fire

summoning the winds
from four directions

fire dance time,
my friend
burn

this is ephemeral
this feeling
this is soon gonna be
ashes

fullness is never
death

burn-dance
the seduction of the flesh

have you ever got to know
Musashi?


Tuesday November 21, 2006 - 02:30am (CST)

as we were walking

my hand in yours,
we knew
no such thing
as truth or closure

we are wild
immeasureably
even when we cry

perhaps that's why
we needed dogs to
bark at us,
hands to slip,
water to fill in
our indecency
to stop running and
hold our breaths,
playing dead to fool
the dogs

we are wild,
obscenely wild,
so delicious in
the mouths

why nothing escaped me
as we walked,
your ego in my hand
fucking mine


Friday November 24, 2006 - 04:28pm (CST)

a sting of sadness

your suspicion
your story-telling mind
have got me hurt

but i'm taking all the blame
how often have i fed your head
with the wrong images of me
playing with them,
mixing them up, to the point
where the wrong became
somehow right

i wanted to see
if you'd crack

and you did,
of course you did
you were as weak as
i was

acting like cattle
breaking through the fences
whose teary eyes were there?

didn't matter
doesn't

we're left ashamed of
meaning-making
of having ever thought of
our gastronomical beings
to each other

we're strangers,
to make it all easier

with that i'll leave you


Friday December 1, 2006 - 07:44pm (CST)

of course not

what do you think about
Babel? how do you read
the balcony scene?
the naked girl and her father?
do you feel how i feel?

have you seen The Couple in the Cage?
does Coco Fusco fit the picture?
Is Gomez-Pena savage enough?
do you feel offended?
how do you read my grin?
do you feel how i feel?

now I assume you know Basquiat
what grains did he go against?
do you understand his resentment?
do you think he was an avant-gardist?
do you think he cared?
do you know why i think
the avant-guard is dead?

do you know the meaning of your
charity? your modern machinery?
can you stand Border Brujo?
drinking a bottle of Herbal Essence?
do you feel how i feel?

you are inside the white bus across the desert
i don't think you have the idea


Thursday December 28, 2006 - 02:08pm (CST)

wossername

you're holding yourself back
step out a bit
to see where you're at
how funny things are
contradictions
desperations
what for? 'til when?
but for who?

in the kitchen last night
we scaled love
but we never got it right
never do, do we?
nay, this isn't a kitchen-sink
theory, hell no

in the kitchen last night
there was fear of cultivating
thoughts of days going by,
unnoticed existence
how to defrost sighs?
miseries? resentment?

this is right in itself --
whatever we have is
a perfect apology as always
you walk away or
you stay put and wait
for a release
sway a bit perhaps?
we can do that

marriage? marriage.
my indoors nasal allergy

step out a bit
the air tickles
the back of your ears