old, warm summer

dandelions
are better
than gossips.

where
is my old,
warm summer?

the streams
are drying, no
more rain.

i linger
in my heavenly
dreams, laughing and free.

 

2019

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Golden

Yesterday
has a picture of us.

Tolerance
is green as a grass.

Dreadful,
we avoided their lust.

Falling
at the feet of a perfect vast.

 

2019

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Underground

Blood abused.
Noise subdued.
The alligators are free.
Villains can flee.

There’s a tragedy impending.
Maze and labyrinth are perplexing.
Your journey is confusing.
The night is tormenting.

 

2019

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the shift

i tied the
devil to a tree.
summoned the starfish
from the sea.
the shift‘s a
sweet success.
i laid myself
at mortal’s rest.

 

2019

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A Splinter Of Metaphor

The door is half-opened.

Light from the ceiling
Wanders on the floor.

I can see a shadow moving
Slowly like a crawling giant
Entity, incognito and unidentified.

I’m perplexed at the
Unknown force, traversing
in my thoughts.

Astonished at the
Sight that no one wants to see.

It’s a splinter of metaphor,
Alienated from
Everything that is common.

I’ve retreated from
Entering the chasm of
My own desire.

The door wants me there.

Stunned, my feet can’t walk.
Doubts invaded my head.
I can separate a dream
From danger.

 

2019

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And Breaking

There’s a picture of sadness.
Desiring not to be haunted by eyes.
Wishing to be buried deeper in the ground.

You wake up one morning, feeling different.
Like a yesterday has been erased from
A memory sharper than a double-edged sword.

An inspiration becomes a staple food for
Someone who can’t afford a fancier meal.
It’s an irony of a king’s table at dinnertime.

Soaked in our dreams.
Never wanting to cut our slumber.
The vain of loving too much is unbearable.

To decide becoming an extraordinary is
Putting nails on our toes when failed.
The less we have is no delight.

And breaking a picture, and breaking a
Morning, and breaking an inspiration, and
Breaking a dream, and breaking an extraordinary.

 

2019

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But Blah Blah Blah

These
same feet
that walked
the streets of Hanoi.

These
same hands
that wrote Sparrow Lines.

The
bard you
don’t mistrust.
But blah blah blah.

 

2019

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