begins his long march
which is a trespass
across strange earth.
of the foreigners
to whom he is the foreigner
are silken whistles
which he misses.
This is a long march.
This is a strange earth.
I am my own stranger.
AmpersandsThis quiet nightAmpersands by ashellessmind
I rescind belief
Their patient meaning
collapses into impatience.
Listen for this virtuosic
language to conclude.
Now single nouns
must be governed
by single adjectives.
A reflection of
my own singleness,
a reflection upon
my own lack of governance.
Their meaning of unity
I reprove. Their meaning
I beg to cease.
Let there be no remnant
for a remainder.
Let there be
no more anymore.
Of endings, I can see
only one. A period
upon this long period.
A plague upon all waiting.
Rain TracksThe insinuation of softRain Tracks by ashellessmind
rain into my listless ears
dispirits, disengages, distances,
detracts. 24 years, seized with
yearning, collapse--one into another.
The year I became a Christian,
which is the year you drowned me
with love, recast as an absent stage,
the seat of lingering & malingering.
Even malediction gives way to its own
rhetoric, growing malleable & impalpable.
I hardly exist: spurred on in spurts.
& so a sputtering like rain tracks
is laid upon my brain pathways.
A Saturday spent silent, in sky-watching &
sound waves, as a warper & a wonderer,
as a wearisome husk, as nothing
but a weight, whittled thin, hollowed
out, watered down, waiting for my bride.
Rape WordsURape Words by ashellessmind
Can’t write no poems
outta rape words
get inside yo mouth
& won’t let ne good words out
push inside yo mind
& suck yo best thoughts dry
press against yo chest
& suffocate w/e
wants 2 b expressd
swim around inside ya
curse ya shove ya blind ya
cry cry cry cry
Dreaming of Cameron MorseDreaming of Cameron MorseDreaming of Cameron Morse by ashellessmind
after Du Fu
This, then, is how I will position myself
at last, as you are leaving me,
the wild one, & myself the Confucian.
I, here remain: confined by my
& you: as wandering
as the wildebeest you narrate, that river merchant
of your own envisioning.
How ironic, then, that we who mixed
Xanax with alcohol,
whose roommates fled, going insane
would do nothing more at your Bachelor’s
party than remember the other
and hold a discussion with our fiances present!
The truth is we have both mellowed with age,
& you, being older, perhaps
have mellowed even more than I, taking a responsible
job & a wife, settling down,
even if in Beijing.
This is the only thing for which I can never forgive you:
that being older, you were always
a couple of steps ahead:
first to write a decent poem, first to write
the other off, first to marry, without even
telling me, first to fly away
& when I pursued, first to fly away again.