watch out for the robots, dude

21 06 2009

Went to china, bought a toy robot, and dried squid, and lost shoes and dresses, and spread my seed all over.

Ok that last bit is false, I have no seed to spread. It’s 5:58 AM, how I hate and love jet lag, all at once. Anyways, I wrote some stuff, must document it:

Half asleep on the train,

eyes shuttering open and closed,

the land flashes before me

green beyond green, interposed

against the sky.

My mind is a lithograph, etched

in acid green.

I close my eyes and see

the beautiful country.

——————————–

This city is called

summer’s doorway.

I am at the museum

of ethnic Chinese abroad,

I am ethnically Chinese,

abroad in China.

There is a tree in this yard

bursting with red blossoms,

a tree that looks like autumn.

It is so close,

seasons change like going back in time.

Thunder in the distance –

I want a deluge,

a falling sky,

disaster disaster

so I’m left bereft

of thoughts about home.

————————————

A tree

with cloud stacked leaves a sunset

of orange blossoms

tipped in white.

Dead flowers dust parked cars below.

A man approaches for a photo.

——————————————-

I played under a backyard tree,

picked the purple blossoms –

wild looking things,

violet insects with egg-white antaenna.

I picked the wrong blossom,

its bee stung me

and sent me crying to mama

who bade me sleep

in the dark afternoon

living room.

Ever after

tree and I,

watched each other

from afar.

—————————–

Cicadas drown sound,

people on the street

in faux silk blouses

their pants rolled up

ankle length

weave between weaving cars.

I lift my shirt

for a summer breeze.

———————–

I fucking hate

these smug middle-aged business men

with their hands placed

jauntily on their hips

reeking self-satisfaction.

I bet their prostates

are the size of their precious blackberries.

—————————————–

In the club

he wore a crisp white shirt

and smelled of sweat and cologne

of rumbling bass.

He knew how

to move my hips

and touch my waist

like he was carefully

polishing a vase.

He knew how to put a smile

on my close-eyed face.

But when he said

“Go home with me tonight,

one night”

I never could have.


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3 responses

21 06 2009
bindo

Hey! Welcome back…

Dig the new stuff….Some great lines….I laughed out loud about the prostates, and ……….”polishing a vase”………….Nice!

Anywho, nothing”s changed except the weather..Look forward to more of your stuff..

Bindo

21 06 2009
Scarlett Parrish

You write poetry with your webbed hands?

Oh, and hello you. You AND your seed, which you do spread, I know it.

21 06 2009
isaacespriu

w00t! feifei’s back!

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