–

one

–

ichi,
number one
breath

there once
was one channel
between our lips

one ball, one tether
one push to
pull the other

after all this time
we now exist for
only one reason

to say, even the
best things are not
meant to last

no first or
last, such is
a lesson of beauty

when what is light
can carry the weight
of no meaning

initial breath shall
become final breath,
death and rebirth

there is no longer
one, or any, line
between us

ichi,
radical,
last breath

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

two

–

ni, two
two
characters

baggage, child
baby,
time to unzip

kernel, red
even hope
can bleed

ni, two
one pair split
to two

approach,
two

going,
two

boil,
two

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

three

–

san,
characters with indeterminate meaning

mountain,
too much in between the space in between

probability,
not enough to calculate our likelihood of survival

manner,
habitual, unbeatable collection of customs over a short amount of time

remainder, leftover,
the balance of what is, never was, nor will ever be, enough

scatter,
our impulses squandered all future gestures

acid,
you said you did, i asked if you had flashbacks of me

silkworm,
where we were birthed, where we shall be buried

cedar,
annotated by forests, memorialized by the roots, if only by two twigs

umbrella,
a more realistic, much more humble amount of coverage

fidelity,
some would question

disaster,
some might say

brilliant,
some have no idea

three, divining, madly in love,
the breath between us, our words, a treasure trunk, locked now

fishing with a net,
fishing with a net

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

four

–

shi…
Four
or
Death

on this fourth day,
setting fire to memories
will help to release you
from my daily routines

you shall no longer
show up on my radio,
my walk to the mailbox
or my karaoke cue

in my footnotes,
my prologue,
my transitions
or my subtext

is this possible,
to think
to let go
of thinking?

shi
four days
to
memory death

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

five

–

(tanka)

you, out of nowhere
standing, again, at my door
dreaded fantasy
the worst thing that could happen
the best thing that you could do

–

tkk

–

–

the stage begs

–

(for Marie-Reine, Peter, Julia and Stephanie)
Saturday, August 27, 2011 at Fais Do Do for Artists At Play

.

.

sometimes we believe we must beg for the arena

they took
her
and we protested
without arms

stood by while they
promised her the
green card and
a red carpet,
“no lines just yet,
but stand
over there,
nice and straight,
drop your chin,
and by your own
breath,
synch your waist,
strap your watch
to our clock,
you’re on call now”

she followed and
we watched without
eyes
while she shrank
into the folds of her skin

sometimes we stand center with our voice caught in the wings

when they took
him
we scathed
without tongues

witnessed as they
promised the
world for
Making It
so long as he
carry their dictionary
as his bible

signed their notes
of promise
to be placed
tenth folder
on the shelf
ever since
so he’s back
doing admin
five days a week
at his office desk

sometimes the proscenium sucks back the light

their identities were
encased in glass

fragmented limbs stuck
behind a beveled cabinet
eyes bulging,
cheeks stuck to the front,
next to dusty sets of
hollow gold statues

and we know too
well
this story

so this poem
shall end in
another world

sometimes within the black box are the only remaining bones

in some
great wash of light,
some brilliant pool of
hope

not another dimension
near the Rosette Nebula,
nor even
the four Galilean moons
of Jupiter

it must end here
in brick walls
concrete dance floors
bad traffic
and elusive street parking
signs

with 4 souls
in overalls
and paint buckets
and a revered donation box

and a big city with
small town life experience
standing at the edge
of its sandy roads
to protect you from
the high rollers
who’d rather offer you
straight jackets
than sincere nods

our feeble fingers
may pinch at
tiny pockets
but
our hands will
pull from big hearts
who know
something about
your blood and tears
and sweat

and we will be there
in the round
before the play has been penned

in the thrust
before it has been sanded down,

at the front of the house
next to critics who’ve
crossed their arms
before the show has begun,

your silk scrim,

your humble backdrop,

running up and down the rake,

we will be your apron wings

sometimes, that is all and everything you will need

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

six

–

six days and counting,
I am on my way to
carving a door through
the wall we once constructed

arbitrary amount of time,
but I needed to start
somewhere

I see it no longer exists
and I could actually walk
straight ahead,
but I like ritual

ritual is helpful

so I burn
one ribbon
one letter
one memento
one piece of jewelry

the way I recall
you did

buried me
and us
underneath a pile
of sand
in an unmemorable
location so you can
return there someday
and we will have
no significance

that was harsh
but good

I should’ve done that

instead I sit here
far behind the curve
on this letting go thing

burning one ounce
of our weight
at a time

a piece of rope
a post-it note
an envelope
a photograph
(no, not the photograph)

but here I go,
walking this road
without you,

the way you went about it,
and never looked
back

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

seven

–

smell of
joss paper
floats in
through the
window seemingly
out of
nowhere but
harkens invitation

I woke
with the
urge to
rid myself
of all
residual liners
in the
chambers of
my heart

I will
give myself
a week
to practice
feeling control

it is
ceremony overdue

we are
two people
in love
with two
other people,
our history
had a
terrible sense
of timing,
or humor,
you choose

nothing exists
here that
needs to
remain intact

the Chinese
burn money
to ensure
fortune to
dead spirits

perhaps our
ghost love
afterlife will
be fruitful
in friendship

the Chinese
are superstitious,
to help
the future
of the
death self

the Buddhists
are practical,
save air,
protect resources,
keep everything
without meaning,
burn nothing

we’ll see
who wins

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

ticking

–

a child stands outside in front of his house
and screams rage
and murder

and here,
we would wonder of
actual alarm

and there,
they shout
revolution

emancipation from tyranny,
the search for a sadist Bedouin
is on

as they see it fall, drop by drop,
spread into rivers
across their palms,

spilled by their hearts,
at their own hands
by their own blood

he who is watching the clock
and the door feels his feet sinking,
the sand is running low

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

barely there now

–

their fights were the stuff
of shooting stars in the war of words,
flying daggers under the expanse
of fluorescent
lights and corian countertops,

two girls, who once placed the pedestal
of their daddy far above their bunk bed,
wielded little palms across ears and
eyes like shields to deflect verbiage of pins
that needled a perforated future with each
fiery passage between mom and dad

he never meant to hurt their children
and he thought he’d never get caught
or find himself here, begging his
wife to
stop drilling and caulking and welding,
but there was no time left to open
more doors

and there were words, like the truth,
not meant to be taken back, as there
are wounds that lead to a mother
informing her daughters they would
only see their father, and all men for
that matter, through these, weary walls
and torn screens and heavy bars
and sealed windows

she presided over the years as
protector and prophet,
as their father, and
all men that mattered, became
smaller and smaller and out of welcome
reach and much too much to want and
way too hard to see

–

–

tkk

–

–

–

communion

–

intimate
body abode

my parents raised me to believe i was free to choose my own

communal staples,
rubber-banded hearts

they said they were raised Buddhist, but that religion was up to me

common hearts,
unit of kites

they didn’t really mean it, not when i went to Chieko’s Christian church

abolish religion,
commute sentences

we were suddenly fighting all the time about crusades and history

communists
unite

it was kind of fun, taunting them with the trendy acrylic cross i earned

craving unity
word wishes

it was less fun, when there was to be no talk of the Crusades at the church

comatose congregation
holy bible beating

–

–

tkk

–

–