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?