Category: Writing

  • Helium Balloons

    I thought I’d love a Chinese man for we both taste what becomes blander, the father it ripples –the peppercorn in gong bao chicken and freedom. It’s in the air here.Back home freedom is packed in helium balloons,something to let go of in an applause. Or, a stagger of cannon firing in front of the […]

  • Dreamhouse

    At the end of this corridor is the back porch with a view. A view with oceans. The best on the Pacific. No need to sail in Nike to see the land continue. 12 hours away. The land promises to go on, off grid. Here to wake is to dream, like to dream is to […]

  • In ameri-go-around

    Sit down.Stand up. It’s time to go. Wait. Hold your breath. Eyes down.For the next 3-minute windowless ride. The line is getting shorter The glitter is getting dimmer The bowl of soup is getting colder. Sit up.Stand down.First come first serve guaranteed. Soup at the front line not guaranteed.It’s time to wander around Whole Foods […]

  • Mother in pieces (I)

    Ma, you cannot brush anymore my hair is long ing for some kind of cutoff a wrap from stretching shore to shore

  • My father, in pieces (I)

    My father’s hand moves so slowly when he writes fingers clutched tight around his pen the tip as hard as a flickering faith a determination to make seconds count I know now, like all good tales they don’t get told. They flow from his fingers to my pen tip. I was planted under neglect Is […]

  • In between

    In between sips of perfectly orchestrated peppermint tea, steps on and off the ropey bathmat you snuck near the bathtub, sweet raspberry sorbet with a mosel of weakly matcha butter cookie and guzzles of sickly rich apple cider spiked with whiskey just cool enough to warm torsos.  In between shadows cast in yellow lamplight and […]

  • On the golden coast

    On the golden coast lives un homme who I have never met cutting paper shreds I’m on my boat collecting shreds and scraps to fill the holes in my paper boat

  • In Between

    In between impulse-driven honoring and the tacky enshrinement of small wonders, between scintillating revisits of my crackling, walled up fireball life engine, leaving with beautifully burning embers in the monochrome drag…in between the whistling and rumbling of trolley train outside my third story apartment… where in between 35% and 97% have you fallen in love? you asked in between the train rumbles.

  • Secret Parade

    My heart held a funeral for youwhen I wasn’t lookingWithin the whistling, overgrown garden of trees of eyes and I close my eyes one by one by oneto not see your pained pacing back and forthstir-crazy in hostagepaining us bothYet I grew a garden for you smell your sick selfI refused toI let you waste […]