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

The last metamorphosis

The last metamorphosis
comes new, comes slim
dwindled causes
painted a thousand roads to fragments

Memories to be
tall and toeless
dancing off the beats
now they pose
for the next movement

There are no connections
other than the repeats

There are no repeats
there is no after after
as there is no before before

The grave is for flowers
the name will be watching
the name has been

Were you asked at the beginning
would you remember the last?

The last
metamorphosis

1-27-2016 Boca
Thoughts emerged when reading Catastrophe Theory (Vladimir I. Arnold).
Thoughts about the geometry of death.

时间旅行

坐上时间的车
头晕，恶心
水跃出瓶口
时刻表上
热情相拥

两个脱轨的
一节向左
一节向右
轮子分娩出
挥舞着的手
递一封信给
轨道的回声

一边写
退回原址
另一边写
退回原址

2016-2-1 博卡