The Machine

The giant lies on its side.
Blood spirals into
electric rivers
in a breathing box.

New souls are born on
the plastic prairie
now engulfed by fate,
their feet soldered to chains,
their voice turned into sand.

Were not for a paradoxical thought,
the giant would not have fallen
into silence.

Children watch for a hundred years of decay
waiting to live.

- 2/25/2018 in Boca

Whiskey emergency

Domes of oaks

perching by the water

are mildewed handles of a blue kettle

sitting on a cloud of barks

hunting for haunted souls.

The sun has fallen

in a hole of earth

mutters in a coma

cannot be heard

from three steps aside.

Trees fallen

in a darkness never seen

are flaming mementos of the day.

Shadows ambush the flickers.

A song beats the strings. 

Dry tears of a whiskey bottle

roll down the chimney

left lukewarm.

Travelers await voices of the night

and a rescue awry.

Cold fog

descends on a torched face.

An emergency dawns on the sober eyes

a ritual unsustained.

The sun undress

to put down white ashes

and a drained chest.

1/3/2018

to record a camping trip with C, J, & K. 

The game

By the shallow stream
of shaded stones
sit two friends
who is one in one's mind

where the darker
are darker than the brighter
the brighter
brighter than the darker
handful of the assorted
more assorted than what are not

Then the game shall begin

One has the darker move ashore
One has the brighter join the stream
One cannot though
be more elaborate
than the other
whose dream one dwells

One wins over
a loser imagined
who triumphs
in a reign transverse

One left
who are two players
dreaming
and dreamt about.

9/3/17 Boca

Birth of a Dark Flower

Thoughts ornament
the sphere of waves
no longer standing
its own weight

Momentum of the fall
falls on momentum
down the crumbled
leaning on the dust

Eye of a pin
settles below
prairie of storm
the newly born
left the incomplete

Dark petals
scatter abroad
a heaven inverse
never again
seen

Young roots
inhale the depth of
a battered dawn.

4/22/2017, Boca

Time

She sits and contemplates
on eternity
With an enveloped teabag
Lukewarm
In another enveloped world

Her mirror binds her
The shadow courts her
The web of cues
Plunged into the spindle
A puncture
Awakens time

She sits and contemplates
She sits.

1/25/2017

Greenhouse

the green cropped the shadow of walls
the walls cropped the shadow of earth
the boors open their hearts
the boors open their doors
plunging in the red soil
the nails
scraping the soul

welcome to the new perimeter!
free-growing hoes
hang from
the frozen ceiling
mock as they swing

welcome to the new perimeter!
the earth opens its chest
the ground opens its vein
leaves shoot from their dreams
roots strangle the warmth

the boors take the green

the green cropped the shadow of men
the men cropped the shadow of earth
the boors open their guts
the boors open their brains
roots grip the red soil
roots grip the white soil
the skull opens the back door
the socket opens the front
here grows the tree

the tree of paper flowers
the boors take the green

7/2/2016 Boca

Funerals are for the cannibals 食人族的葬礼

Funerals are for the livings not the dead
are plates embroidered
with words carved
they screams
at the blade of dark tears

prey on the dead
the imaginary parasites
like beads
driving a slanted plane

they slipped through
the throat of rituals
holding hands.

-

葬礼为生者
不为死者
是镶边的碟子
刻着字
对刀刃尖叫
黑色的泪

死的是猎物
是妄想的寄生虫
像钢珠
驾驭倾斜的平面

他们划入
仪式的喉咙
手拉着手

-
6/19/2016 博卡