late luminescence

(Written on 11/16/20, but for whatever reason, not posted)

Your breath refracts off
wrinkles on their browsperfect arches, more defined
with every ache of your spine at midnight
bone by bone, throw them into the fire
cast your marrow into the pyre
vials of poison,
to each their own
a, mansion, a lover, perfection
alone
guzzle blue flames,
sand slip down your throat
air seeping out the hull from
inside
the
boat.
A fate of ballrooms and grandeur
of pretend i love you's
and fake gold decor
they love you
love you
you

but is it just me,
or is the sky not quite blue?

I think I forgot how to speak.

I owe a call to the best friend in my phone,
and an ode to the summer walked on a bone.

An "I'm sorry!" to that boy I somewhat liked,
And a 加油！to that brother who's completely wiped.

The page called my name yesterday,
or was it a week ago? I dunno, Someday.

Standing next to inspiration's dusty tomb
from across the neighborhood of my room

a right on Dirty Laundry and another
on the Unclosed Shutters

oh dear, I forgot how wonderful Window is!
My word, haven't looked through her in ages!

How many similes, metaphors, and lives now
do I owe to her honor, anyhow?

And Sweater, old friend!
Did I truly fling you to this bend?

Ah well, another poem for you
And you, and you, and why not you too?

Just round the bed,
words scrambling in my head

And by the time I cross the aisle,
a few steps, but feels like miles

To the page, I must apologize
for by now the blaring voices have simply

died.

Leatherback tales, spin me a turtle
of stars tattooed on skin
moon washing sand
and people
who live without breath
keep
the tiny grain, boundless pages
keep
curator, the leatherbacked

The last page, cloying sugar of

maple syrup and ripened persimmons,

singing arias through the air in my
dimly lit corner of the universe

feet on an unmade bed and a splayed smile
as the languid mezzo is drawn across bowed lips

Reflected, refracted
in prisms of darkened chromebook screens,
long forgotten

a meager desk lamp lights the rosin dust afire
on rich oak floorboards, grounded by the bass

Hours meandered through
marked only by the worried flick of pages
punctuating still air

pulse panging unintelligibly in
reverberating ribs, irony strung in fragility

haphazard notes adorn staves
of neat stoic ink

the rise and folly of lives,
a melody, a reminicing theme
crescendos to a perfect pitch
you didn't know you needed

an exhale,

a thud,

revealing the lazy scrawl of
lined notebook sheets underneath

Yet still,
listless fingertips sweep
rounds on the closed cover
tacit circles of applause,

spotlights shine through curtains of red limned eyes
sated, brimming with unconcealed contentment

making each and every minor chord worth
the final major

There's a cardboard cookie on the table
that tastes like Middle School
it is warm in my stomach as
cold crumbs line clammy calluses
But it still yields to my teeth as I bite
too much stale worries and never enough chocolate
It is the little photobook that is bitter
on my tongue, but tastes of decadent
strands of summer caught on ivy
webs, we call cafeteria tables
A past & a prophesy
of lost melodies folded in lonely books
for the next sixth grader
who sucked on apple lollipops of drama
mouth puckeringly addictive
and of boys that whispered carelessly in halls
for all to hear of the insurmountable feat of
tricking overpriced vending machines for bags of

air

because part of us knew High School, the Beyond
would be hard of oxygen
So, there's a cardboard cookie on the table
no longer mine to eat
warm, bright, overpriced
it tastes just like middle school.

photo: ginkgo leaves and stones from the Huntington Gardens in San Marino, CA

"California is on fire."

We are moths aflame.

Gold coins spill from our tongues
soaking all the sunshine until skies are gray.

A politician's dead eyes watch
orange skies in San Francisco, unfeeling.

The fires stole the mountains, the smoke the horizon
but you, fish eyes, you stole the security of my home.

We are Esaus, who will go down as fools
for selling a birthright for diamonds and doubloons,

villains the moment we renounced nature
to become Midas instead.

My home is a prison that reeks of smoke,
the AC on while we freeze underwater.

How long will we wait, will you wait,
until the ash taints your golden tongue?

I beg you, I warn you
that California is just the tip of a matchstick.

Yes, suffering brings a nation together
but if you cared, don't let us die so ...

there are babies just being born ...
Who are you if you allow them to pay for our mistakes?

Icarus, how much ash will you let us inhale,
homes will you allow to be reduced to char?

How much closer will your wings bring us to the flame?

 

Wet sand cakes my legs, a briny armor
earned from drowning in a sea

hopeful gold rimmed violets destroyed, weeks of stifled blues
meaningless plans shredded, tearstained shards drift to my feet

chained to the sheets, the gasps as I wail
but COVID is deaf to effervescent pleas

sleeping away the sun, why live this nightmare
when I can be a bold pixels pulsing on a screen?

the days blur weeks blur days, time as I know it dies
broken hourglass, steals my breath numb while flesh bleeds

and it's bled and scabbed and scarred
now knocked down by the upstart of the feed

watercolor drama etched in notebooks are paper mache
a poor replacement for scorching cement drenched in iced tea

bitter isolation, a decadent chocolate gorged upon
a glass of blank hall lining faces, please, I'm on my knees

the littered books all read, a closed library locks glass doors,
won't let me beg the shelves for a fresh reprieve

game nights and laughter never last under this saran wrap fear,
haunted by reminders that this temporary between is on lease

a summer stolen, a summer changed
the girl who was to the writer who can be

after all, drowning changes a person
only fate has the keys to end this silent freeze

pants lipstick black
screaming sirens afire

No choice, no way
betrayed your conscience
one too many times
caught red handed,
but you open your fist
lined palms conceal the fact,
that guilt has long departed

they were filled with empty jewels
promises you failed to keep
refracting the guilt on fate,
you blame the stars
you love your son

so you stab the family photo
of strangers, fighting for
survival, just like you
drown my mother to keep
his alive

no? am i wrong to blame
you
instead of balls of fire
somewhere beyond the sky?

here you stand free,
in blue jeans burning
diamond daggers against my throat
clenched hands,
the one that pushed us to the edge

don't tell me why
don't lie

I know it was you.

imagine

The polaroid was polarizing. It's rare something lives up to its name. As sprinklers weathered the white tulle, he listened to Mother's lecture.

Sage never gave in. At least, that's what I tell everyone now. It's how I want her to be remembered. Because she didn't when it matters most, and that's all that matters.

But, to tell the truth, she always caved for me. She let me see the world first, even if it meant she had to wait an extra two minutes. The bright hospital room glared at me, and as I cried I had smiles and cooing voices to comfort me. But when our uncles and aunts tell the story of our birthday now, nobody can quite remember if Sage cried or not. Uncle Danny said she didn't, Aunt Merriweather said she did. They only remember the color of Basil's wrap, how much Basil weighed, all Basil, Basil, Basil. But in my mind, I don't think Sage cried-- she would've simply given in to the light. That's simply how she was.

As we grew up, it was almost as if Sage was the older sibling. I may have walked first, and I may have talked first, but Sage always gave first. But her giving was never as loud as my demanding babble, crying grape juice tears as Sage handed over her's.

Later, Basil won the trophies as Sage cheered in the stands. Basil got into fights, and Sage went and tattled, saving him from a broken nose only to be spat upon. Basil locked himself in his room, while Sage slid cards through the cracks and waited for him to emerge.

It was also Sage who told me not to smoke, but stayed with me even when I didn't listen. But somehow, it was Sage who got cancer. Sage, who always followed the rules and looked after her older brother. Even when I cried into her hospital sheets sobbing sorry's that could do nothing, it was Sage who told me it would be alright. It was Sage whose smile wobbled as she saw her beautiful auburn hair fall to the ground, but kept smiling nonetheless. It was Sage who told everyone not to tell Basil that she was fading away like the summer green leaves.

As she hacked away her last breaths, she defied death as I broke to pieces beside her. I stood over her bed and begged him not to take her, that I would protect her. But Sage had never needed my protection and I could not shield her from the cells that rebelled inside, and as I awoke the next morning her body was cold and the light in her eyes had shriveled. And as two became one I had to reconcile myself with the empty room across the hall that still faintly smelled of sunlight and the ghosts of guilt that lingered over my head.

And for once, it was Sage who left first and Basil had to learn to acquiesce to death's demands.

The world is temporarily closed
or at least, the world as I know it
on the news, I hear of a world still open
open to a careful reemerging from their bunkers

so you say the world is temporarily closed
due to COVID, or due to ignorance?
I've seen people saying it's their right
to not do their part in this battle
the sheer stupidity has cost lives
but for you, are they just ever-growing numbers on a screen?
because what are mere pawns when you are king?

the world is temporarily closed
but mine may not be "temporary"
if we move to an open one for the sake of living
outside of this bubble they keep popping
i know i will never be the same again
because a year in a life is all it takes
to crush the bones of my soul
and rearrange my lost shards some way new

the world is temporarily closed
but is that any excuse to close your mind?
remove yourself from any sense of survival
you are bleeding us of our sanity
by stabbing us while the danger still looms
ever seeking those tiny rifts of vulnerability
you've carelessly ripped them into gaping mouths of death
oh, do you know what you've done?

the world may be temporarily closed
but my dear, you've turned temporary into an eternity
do you know my grandpa thinks he can walk to China now?!
this monster has driven us all up the wall
are you so intent to push us off it?
the planner's pages flip fast, but everyday you don't wear
that banner, a promise for an open world, over your mouth
you turn our lives into a somber drive towards permanent
so, won't you please sir, put on your mask?

2021.

Diluted eyes

are unlike the tranquil disturbances of tree branch
children rippling, harbingers of peace without silence
while zen is in the quiet heart
of a butterfly's fluttering beats
as they bloom upon a mountain
and a heart of stone skips to the crackly sensations
of being broken
into fine specimens of silt.

tell me

of the blue expanse that rests on the palms of your hands
in which puppies pant their final breathes
and buds fade into withered blossoms rather than quit
at a gentle snap of insolent fingers,
because though I suppose the green is
always broken by shards of blue regret,
muddled ripples of brown are okay and
i can see my rambles echoed in the reticent hush
because all the various cogs and knobs of nature don’t is,

they are of.

---

Inspired by: https://mailchi.mp/vermonthumanities/words-in-woods-wed-july1?e=274f4568fa

the spiders spin you webs
to veil your eyes and afford you
silk dresses and a throne of silver
you thought you were their queen
but don't you know spiders?
my darling, they will crown you
with a diadem of venom
a prisoner in her own throne
close your eyes
they whisper sweetly
as they suck your youth
from your cherry blossom cheeks
and eat your dumpling soft skin
mouth dancing with savory strawberries
look at your fine silk gown
can't you see it's your chains?
think of their saccharine words
can't you see it's the guillotine
poised over your regal neck?
look at you, my sweet
they will vanquish your ever lasting beauty
you are stuck in their web of lies
if only you would simply
open your eyes

The stars fill up the sky adorning the brow of a little girl staring out her window trying to wish upon an airplane instead of a shooting star as the moon readies itself for the night. It prunes itself as it gazes into the pool and argues with the weeping willow over who is more vain and who is more pitiful, green leaves turned black. 

when i see the gold

First off, welcome! You've either stumbled here by accident, come to get more information about me (sounds, bad, but I mean in a friendly way), or you already know most everything to know about me and am seeing what I've shared with the world. 

a shot in the night

shattering the starry sky in all it’s silent glory
the idle conversation of the evening birds up too late
and the cricket’s dying symphony hushes
as i wait for the sparks and the fiery smoke
that flit off the edges of ignorant happiness
to appear on the horizon of rooftops and streetlights
although, 1:06 is an odd time for fireworks

I instinctively clutch my blanket closer
seeing a midnight gun glinting with moonlight
and the metallic bite of a bullet as it launches
embedding itself in the space just above her collarbone
slumping onto the gray shadows that rush like vultures
gathering ‘round in a prayer circle to feast on her dying soul
while the maniac in black grins, polishing their solid death
with bubblegum surgeon gloves without a single smear of crimson
tossing it on her bloodless cheekbones
the satisfying crack skittering up their spine
always can get another, after all, its their second amendment right

and although this may just be my imagination
someone somewhere is gazing at the white rock in the sky
giving it the dark circles under their eyes as they mourn
because someone who shouldn’t have wielded the power
to determine life or death, did
silent tears to water the gravestone flowers
while the birds and the crickets resume their lives

we willingly let it be late night fireworks
as the shots in the night fire over, and over, again




Posted on: https://youngwritersproject.org/node/35516

I dream of metaphors spilling from my unrefined maw
and as the stars welcome the illustrious dark 
encroaching doubts are ushered in, their plus one
the endless drought of frustration i’ve kept at bay all day
that has left me withered and thirsty
a bottomless well of empty
reservoirs of tears dried up
until i can taste the exsiccation on my bloody chapped lips
and all I know is I think I know that 

maybemaybemaybe m a y b e MAYBE M A Y B E

I am not who I think I know I think I am
that as much as my brain is structured 
an empty vessel for inky words that once sloshed about
longing for raw lightning surging through bated breath
maybe the mind is is not enough to triumph over matter
that the blood in my veins and the cells of my tissues
that the very fibers of my being, rebellious monoliths of fate
are enough to uproot what so firmly is 
tearing the seams of all I know I think I know

i can’t, I won’t, I shan’t can’t won’t can’tcan’tcan’t

And I think I know I think I can’t go on like this
chasing what they do until the wrinkled butterfly wings
becomes my haggard prison of ribs & scales
envy oozing out my pores, barely reaching my eyes
the pus puddling at my soles
shrouding the soul in the closet as I try
every imaginable axe to get rid of this
because all I know I think I know
is that yesterday I was intact
not split open with my own desperate claws
graphite lips talking to my blood and brain
as the pus muddles with the blood around me
and stomach acid erases all that was on my bones
and gnaws acrid new words into the stars