For a dear friend...

Ms. Breakfastlunchdinner,

rolling green scenes as far as you can see,
with tall emerald walls and electric green screens,
dreams hued in leaves from your favorite summer eves,
reminds you that your time is now stolen by thieves!

Stars

Look up at the stars you beautiful girl and see how they burn tonight
And I'll look up to meet you there and find the space to be alright
Because there's stars I found stuck behind the deep green jungle in your eyes
Or perhaps it's me that's stuck inside and suspended in your mind.
I catch myself so many times staring through those windows into space
To lose myself in the gentle vibrations of your golden sunshine face
So look up tonight you beautiful girl and see those twinkling burning stars,
And I'll look up to meet you there and smile that this time is ours.

So tell me ancient wisdom from way up high
When is the day that I'll awake to find
That cosmic winds and dreamt intentions collide
To set you to sail from your coast to mine?

I've been standing with your back to me long enough to know
That she's riding the wind waves wherever you blow
So turn and face me now and watch her seeds flow
Send them out west for the garden to grow.

Surfer girl of the wind, dandelion fluff in the air
A fire-autumn aspen standing majestic without compare
An explosion of sunshine rays from behind a face so fair
Conjure now a tsunami wave of west-blowing air!

Look out to where tired sunshine eyes are laid to rest
To where mountains stand proud along a horizon that's sketched
The place where it all seems to melt into what's best
Is there any place more fit for perfection's last catch?

Alone here I'm sitting with a heart full of intention
But a head full of doubt that admires its reflection
Our stars are crossed with signals mixed and lost in confusion
When will the wind change its mind from this awful illusion?

So standing here humbled by the space in between
I'm lost in the torrent of emotion unforeseen
If she rides on the wind then you must intervene
And awake me the day I'm returned to that queen.

Oda al Mateifaso

Si todo el mundo fuera tan comprometido al mateifaso todos vivieren en paz

niños comieren, balas se convirtieren en anillos para deditos de los amores

y las armas mismas dispararen flores como pequeños cupidos.

Los cielos se abrieren para destruir a los malvados

en manera de un grande golpazo...

si solamente el mundo se comprometiera al mateifaso.

for my chingus in Korea

A thought on this radical accumulation of bright-shining-multicolored myriad circus clowns and beauty queens, without whom I may have managed to float above the soju waves instead of drown myself in them.

all it takes is a moment

a flicker in time
a spec of dust on the blinking satellite radar machine of your existence.
that interesting point when time seems to double back on itself
or become tied up in knots.

one second, the blink of an eye, a half second, an instant

like turning the page of a book-- out of sight, out of mind.

but this book, it seems, you're not able to reread

except for the inside unfolding paintbrush of dreams.

a wrinkle in the fabric used to make out the contours of being alive

perhaps like a small tear in one of your favorite t shirts

intersecting lines with their points juxtaposed

a wedge in the sunflower patch we've tried to make grow.

its a quick sting,
a cold bucket of water thrown right on your face

a shock of electricity setting you in place

or sent down from the heavens to remove you from space

and to endear you to a rubbery, elasticized and malleable race.

ending the act, changing the scene, finishing the chapter.

a period, or a "full stop" as some may say. a question mark?

an exclamation point!!! of sorts??

a solid brick wall excellently placed 

for this vortex of mega-inertia...

catastrophe of the cosmic plans and intentions, 

these are the measuring sticks for our lives, 

atomic bomb collision into a reinforced steel bomb shelter, 

and you've got nothing else to do but live it.

so you gotta live it man and keep going on

through this multicolor circus with kaleidoscope arms,

carefully you slink through these overcrowded lines,

building bridges over waters that will break in short time,

and left to make hopeful promises for future bright days

when you'll rebuild the bridges to relive your old ways.

inertia of the past-- the unstoppable force.

reality of time-- an immovable object.

Frank O'Hara shoutout

Frank O'Hara

Mayakovsky

4

Now I am quietly waiting for

the catastrophe of my personality

to seem beautiful again,

and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and

brown and white in trees,

snows and skies of laughter

always diminishing, less funny

not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of

the year, what does he think of

that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,

perhaps I am myself again.

crooked stars

these crooked stars, misaligned again, and cause me to feel blue,

if i had one wish, i'd put them back, and take me back to you,

then i could sit all day and soak in your sunshine face and eyes, 

and as the sun begins to set and the stars would fill the skies,

we could both look up and laugh to find, they've all been realigned.