Poetry

The Chinese adage, right eye twitching brings disaster. The American idiom, a horse is poetry in motion. There is no saying that it is good to have a poet in the family.

Ecoptic cluster of my negative energy, my failed domesticity, throbbing and aching on the operating table:

He bought only an orange a single orange that he carried

Lazy summers get lazier until they fall asleep come September

If older brains measure time in memories let’s relive every moment, sitting in the dark, sharing a box of nonpareils at the arthouse theater, back when stream was still a fluid thing we rock-hopped over.

And the world is a wound From which one does not heal

……….My father smiles when he’s coated in oil. Cars remind him there’s always something to be fixed. He chooses not to replace what he can resurrect.

Once I thought a bowl of sweetness could be motionless. Then sky dragged on my cigarette and exhaled, flipped perspective on its edge.

green the color of unpolished silverware, green the edge around a bruise, green the longing of missing a place, green placed between two thumbs to make the grass blade whistle,

I think time zigzags like a violin. I think time hisses out of my watch like a gas.

Like the coconut, may your journey break open into sweetness. Àṣẹ And at its end— more sweetness.

the play : acting surgically : cuts