Across the highway

17 04 2018

Lenna Pierce wrote on Facebook

A dog came and licked my hand while I was crying on the street.

and i remembered one winter when
by some miracle i was in New York City
and my friend Robin took me to a concert
in somebody’s apartment
(i didn’t know concerts could be in people’s apartments)
there was a lot of weed going around
and i was anxious cuz Robin was anxious
about a boy and not being loved, enough
but mostly i was anxious because
there were so many cool people in this cool apartment
in New York (so cool, too cool, so cool cool cool cool)

but halfway through the concert
my uncoolness and the lonesomeness
of never being loved enough
lifted for about five minutes when Lenna came on stage
(aka the middle of the living room)
and she played this song called Prairie Kids
about how we all wanna leave where we grew up
how we fling ourselves on these coastal cities –
New York, LA, Shanghai, London –
and end up still ourselves, still our unloved, unknown selves

and it broke me.
Broke me in half like a melon dropped on the pavement
all my insides leaking out, like oh thank god
so relieved. me too, me too
just like you, like all of you

It was one of those moments when you just “get” art, you know?
like what it’s for,
you know?

Anyways
to that Facebook post
I replied

one time i was crying and a cat did that, and I tried to make myself cry harder so he’d keep doing it, but he could tell and he walked away

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Black and white

3 04 2018

Some say Americans think in black and white.

This is true. I used to.

Everyone around me thinks in shades of grey.

No light without dark, no dark without light.

I live in the land of shadows. Posing as absolutes.

They’ve smudged me. Blurred my blacks into my whites.

Making me greyish, yet not uniformly so

not enough to blend in. Anyway.

 

I’ve heard tales

of people who think in colors

bold primary colors

stripes of vermilion and blue

tie dye and rainbow, aquamarine

fantastical and unlikely

as walking through walls

 

Then I wonder, if there are people who think

in whole swaths of colors, like a painting?

in moving pictures?

in sound? in touch?

in emotions, like love?

 

Where are they? Can they teach me?

Teach me to stop dragging my blacks into my whites and my whites into my blacks?

I want to wake up!





They don’t leave you with much

6 02 2018

He gave you tears cried late at night

another Saturday wasted & drunk

he said —

something about a girl in a yellow dress —

a song that his father loved.

He made you listen to it twice, each time he cried

tears that felt significant

like glimpsing something through a crack in the door.

“I’m starting to love her like you loved me”

Words texted to you, months later,

as if it were an unexpected blessing

the coda to your heartbreak, a miracle

your ashes your burning down

providing nourishment to his spring, bursting through the topsoil

Glory! Hallelujah!

 

Oh

Poor you

Boo hoo

Always the worshiper, never the worshiped

Always the shadow, cast upon the ground, by some sunnier, better lover

 

What about the love you squandered?

He bought you a necklace – a piece of glass the color of mouthwash

Back when the apartment spent most of his cash, he bought it for you with

as much as he could afford and more

Back when the two of you slept on your mother’s borrowed bed

awash in afternoon light and fumbling at sex. When

you felt something like worship and seen

but you were ugly in small fearful ways

You put the cat in a box and left shit in the garage

 

Did you think you’d forget?

That you could dress yourself up in sensible slacks, estranged from regret

That you could step out on the snow and not think about the roiling worms below

That you could take the next step as the first?

 

And why not?

Why not lie to yourself and say —

I am good,

and I deserve to give and receive love in equal measure

I will not put myself above or below my lover

and I will learn to use the postal service, put away money,

and speak regularly to my mother

I am finally whole and healed

and all of that was in the past

why not?





1.21.2008

25 12 2017

《疝气手术》
(写给孙鹏翼)
我不介意
你的鸡巴
被医生摸过
我介意的是
他摸的时候有没有戴
胶皮手套
2008.01.21

Hernia Surgery

for Sun Pengyi

I don’t care
about the doctor
touching
your dick
but I care
if he was wearing
rubber gloves
when he touched it





As you are

5 09 2017

I like you as you are
See the light bouncing off you
like sunlight on the lake
and celebrate

You are not wrong
or bad
or sinful
You are you
who makes me want to sing

I want your forest on me and around me
I want to go into your realm
and knock politely on doors
and walk away if they don’t open
and feel unperturbed

I want to show you the depths of gentleness
how soft softness can be

I want to be gentle
and unassuming
in hope
that you might put the star back
on your brow
and step out





24 05 2017

it’s too much it’s too much it’s too much

the wonder

wet, forward moving, together, churning

kisses. oh kisses.

whisper, let me back in

slipping, urgent towards one thing

not caring not caring what my face looks like for once

love

love love love

flooding me, drowning me

his voice in the darkness like a man in a raft set out to sea

Hearing the crest, fallen against the bulkwark of my darker ship

glimpses in moonlight obscured

get inside me

please

get inside me please please

let me hold you inside me

keep you safe and small and protected

like a prayer and I am happy

I am finally happy

you are inside my body like water drizzling down my neck, behind my ears

all inside me like a crowd of cheers, and balloons – thousands – set free at once

like being killed and killed and thank you

thank you

I never knew what tenderness could do

how it could crack me like a blade of grass cracks the cobblestones

 





Food Poem 1 – Wontons (huntun)

27 04 2017

In the beginning
there was nothing –
this was huntun.

nothing grew lonely
turned in on itself
and from emptiness
blossomed

succulent
hothouse meat
encased
in delicate shells
that break open
to release
torrents.

the first
“ahh…”
of satisfaction
a homecoming