god
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it was evening / when we foundyou in the garden / sleeping in the middle of a fairy ring / or that’s how we’ve chosen to interpret the event / now know that I am not saying you are magic / but rather that it is drawn to you / like all new mysteries are
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raise the curtains over this beehive / here is a magic trick / you have to wait for time to tell you the secret / but it’s noisy still / noisy still / noisy still / so much movement in so little space / is also a metaphor for my heart of hearts / there’s
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After ‘Mud man’ by Chikako Yamashiro the word spread across the town like rain. we lie, waiting to be exposed to wisdom from the heavens. we let the word blot us out, cake us in dirt; your hands, blooming from the earth like mangroves. we are tethered here, grasping at raindrop, leak, and tear. somewhere
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on the elevator she steps aside, lets others into the gantries first. she hasn’t seen a mirror in years: in the dark, she feels about her shape, is satisfied with being. what was her name? she knew it was a saint’s. it just had to be. in the dark she swallows even without being asked.
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Once, you asked me what I would want for myself; I answered as you would have wanted, i.e. mark of a man, a six-pack, job that pays good money etc. 5Cs and COE, a happy family. Another time you asked me ridiculous koans: what is the sound of two butts farting. If a NSman shits
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pause for thought – one mistake begets another. A treatise on compulsive lying: how one wears long sleeves even in summer, how one nods along to the rhythmic ritual of “yes, I am fine.” No. Break the glass – this is not just an emergency this is real life. Real in the sense that there
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First, patience. Second, patience – but to a reasonable degree. Patience, such that I may wait, without an inkling of what you were thinking. Maybe take a few centimetres off me, so the distance between us can shrink, by that inch which seems like a mile. Perhaps, fingers just a centimeter shorter, so that our
ugly stage 