I am

I am that gale surging through your window
chill and cold, but welcoming.
I am the quenching rays stirring you out of bed
abrupt and curt, but warm.
I am all the meals that taste divine
surly and sweet, but fleeting.
I am a tingle on your spine when you are alone
teary and dear, but guards against fears.
I crawl at your feet with grace
wanting and needing, but with care.
I escape from your violin as you play
sharp and surreal, but calming.
I reflect in all the faces you pass
brittle and reluctant, but friendly.
I rest on those empty calendar days
urging and swooning, but ethereal.
I exist only in your mind
laughing and smiling,
kissing and loving,
but never there
when you
need me
most.

Nightmares are the past now

The memories float like specters, wailing and aw’ing through the large windows at my bedside making me shiver, it is fear, that shudder as I hide my feet deeper into the creases of my mind, I remember, when you got news of your mother hurt, in an accident, we were still blooming then, but your tears were more real, causing me to cringe shards punctured my heart, I heaved remorse, obsequiously obliging to aid you, when I was able to make you laugh even as you cried, chuckling as drops sled down those dimples and innocent eyes, I couldn’t have been happier, our conjunct was ethereal, that is what I told you, and myself, fooling the warm moments to a moderate tranquility to efface the arrows aiming at me, for me, to an oasis, a stasis that bridges between time and space, watching the stream together gaily treading beneath us, lightly massaging your palm, glancing at you, then back at the scene, I can’t put you through that, can’t allow you to try to drive with me, forced in shotgun, your eyes darting back behind you, the oven is on, you forgot, I forgot, you have to stay for something else, your other self is left there and isn’t ready to leave, heaving water out the windows, our hands skid away from themselves, no grip, that primrose skin spangles like dawn when you smile, awhile waiting for me as I finished the marathon, sweating and beaten, crippled, allowing me to rest my soul on your shoulder, a care cracked your face like a lightning bolt, o that comfort of having someone to bare burdens, but you wouldn’t want to carry the load, no, these ghosts prance at the facades and shadows with devious smiles, can’t read them straight, obliquely shuffling notes and letters to make some sense, at the wedding reception, in that elegant blue gown, wound around that pale waist like the sky, love rung in the air, chimes from bells and empty crystal glasses, like cymbals slightly whispering for a kiss, that joining of two separate entities breathing energy, inertia into the others soul, that is what it is made for, to unite two imperfects seeking their other half, but how do you know, the silent ghouls let out hideous laughter, a cold front brushes my whole body, their words jolt my spine, to remind me what I will never find, “You will never know, your mind is too slow, focused on the air not your toes, moments pass you like a day, away they sail with you not feeling that warmth the Sun bestows, crows and doves caw and love but lack to quench your interests, so unresolved, nothing will be ever solved.” The worst part is, I know in my heart, they are right…

Walkin' and Talkin' under the red sun part 2

In a big city there is those crowds and circles that remind me of the cities I have seen before. It is obvious that the states have infected China, palliating those erroneous verve's towards capitalism. By little doses we can all be saved. They have the makings of the new world, but still revile in the consanguinity of that ancient ancestry. It is bustling, Xi’an, millions of walkers and talkers gawking and oo’ing those structures that we take for granted. They still eye me as I pass, but in the city, they see their share of the world. It is in small increments, but it is there. I am bumped and shoved and skidded over so that everyone can get to where they are going. Just like home. Taxi’s litter the streets like lice curtly speeding passed as though they don’t see my arm, just like home. The American cuisine is at it’s best, Pizza Hut, Dairy Queen, MCD’s, all topnotch establishments offering similar western wares, but at a price much steeper than the usually dinner out. The waitresses smile warmly, sweating profusely, darting here and there. The food is quite good, better than I remember. Perhaps the culture hopes to fool the people into what America really is, not making good food, just some substance to give you that push and extra pounds to continue living on meagerly. Anomalous manners perpetuate, but it is something I need to get used to. As I traveled with my companions to the restaurants and stores and bars and clubs, I couldn’t help but do two things. Compare them to their alternatives at home, and overall most are pretty similar. Restaurants are quaint and delicious, stores are trendy and infuriating, and bars and clubs are full of drunken buffoons dancing and laughing, and trying to be included, get laid, or forget everything. I then remember all the drunken buffoons I have back home and how I miss them and wish they can sit and drink with me. I cheers all those back home. Walking at night, the city lite up by the convenient stores buzzing, and damp street lights, it reminded me of all those memories assailing me, even in such convivial atmospheres. Lack of sleep breaches all thirsty souls seeking that “love” or “attachment” that binds the feet but also gives us a place to rest. Trains are hectic. We are all caged in wishing for a bit of rest on a tight compartment full of others. I just happened to be the “other” other. It is annoying being gawked at every moment, can’t they at least look away when I look, but I guess I would stare if I noticed a stranger. Is it curiosity? Anxiety? Dislike? I just want to be homogeneous within this new structure since I already feel like enough of an outsider as it is. I need that feeling of home that gaps an ocean without effort, I already lost my map, my companion didn’t, couldn’t come, it is lonely alone on a skiff heading everywhere. I guess it is for the best, or at least I will keep telling myself that.

Both sides of my heart

Side One
A soaring blue bird guiding his wings to the curves of the earth, tickling,
that shudder that massages the humors and muses.
Founded on the unknown, what is known? Not
the verve bursting as he trundles, escaping,
to the warmth of the pyramids or beneath a prince,
resting warmly at his feet not wanting anything. We all want something!
A shout in the streets, riots,
obliquely effulgent about the new Sunday mornings’, sometimes
under a new sun, air, pollution, cough, rushes in,
traduce his breath, muffled,
rustling his sky feathers to readjust,
somnolent at the atmosphere, what is it?
The harbinger, this travel palliates the undertow,
row, row, row,
My squab, keep eyes forward, beak pointing up,
no food can hope to entice those senses,
longing, always, longing
hands create and build and love
but the dove calls from home, her crescendo reaches your
ears too late.
don’t my friend,
don’t glance at the coming storm.

Side two
The domicile nags the back of the neck, that appeal.
Fancy quondam, I do, my heart
sweats like a sailor in the cellar, bucolic panders
to those jejune eyes, right, or falters at the first paintings of that beauty,
bleeding cause of the age, temperature and time does it no good,
no, it wilts like a thirsty flower and sends me into palsy.
Erode and unravel that master plan too late, I did,
descend to the level of reality that proliferates sadness, o those tears,
“Heart of my heart, were it more, more would be laid at your feet,”
compete with unknown suitors basking roses and clovers, over, and over,
it’s hard to prove that seas and oceans seem brighter with you,
like poor Odysseus sailing for years without lovely Penelope, but that image,
the lasting immortality that she had in him, lead him,
it existed in a stasis and never changed, even if she might have,
what would you call that?
I wear it like armor and resist those sharp blades.
I can see the youth in your eyes, teary they be, pleading,
farwell, farewell, farewell!
You wave desperately but are halted,
feet like lead and hands like rubber, folding with a prayer,
“Will he please be alright?” “Can she please be with me?”
mail that remorse and those ties that fly at the speed of your heart beat.
Defeat, I swell at it, scorn it,
concrete counter tops, loud warble from taxi cabs, and cars,
state street won’t be the same, no, those sleepless summers smiling,
smiling as the 62 is nowhere to be found, but I didn’t care. I remember and laugh.
Please, home, kiss me, like you did before.
Those lips clasps and turn on my soul,
a bowl of oatmeal appeals to that waking night right at your side.
O, Chicago and you. Two views of the same coin.
No change left, no time, pockets jingle like bells,
its’ been swell, hell, I’ll see you soon.
I swoon at the stars and halos above your head
from the photos, dross, not to me.
You decide and feel, eventually,
eventually we can be happy.
but the most real art
shows us apart…

Mountain and Minds

Nature speaks all tongues,
it’s just usually spoken softly.
Like the low rumbles of rivers running in between aged rocks,
tumbling, jogging, creating paths out of obstacles.
So high, mountains reach horizons skyscrapers dream of.
Jealous of the majestic awing and oo’ing that others bestow upon it,
without effort it lasts longingly,
allowing footsteps to tread safely on its back,
humming happily at the hymns and tao readings elegantly
abiding to the power it holds.
I can feel the energy and force
half-naked,
journeying through its wet mouth just to try and connect
to what it is. It doesn’t judge, nor stare,
smiling, just to be able to witness something new,
and bound hands and drink,
Gambei,
as crisp as crystal and as free as the wind.
That’s when time really stops,
crops and stars stroke the heart,
apart from the loud inside.
Silence speaks the loudest
when our minds never get a rest.

Walkin' and Talkin' under the Red Sun, part 1

It has been three weeks since I got here, and I have experienced so much. I never left the country before this trip and I have never lived by myself completely. Two things most accomplish nowadays sooner, but I was stripped of the chance. On the plane, after I left Elite, and checked my bags in, sitting there, alone, watching the chart displaying my aircraft amongst the many states surrounding Illinois, steadily awaiting to be lifted, submerged within the clouds, it being so late. I didn't sleep before the flight since I wanted to be able to sleep on this long flight. My eye lids were heavy with exhaustion, and fright, and nervousness. I looked out onto the airplane for anything familiar, but saw nothing. I knew this was it. I gripped my seat as the plane ascended, in my mind contemplating jumping off in a last ditch effort to keep to the conformity that has defined my for all these years, begging and pleading the pilot and staff to allow me to stay just a few days more. They were conjunct with the devious plot to ship me off to the unknown. I stood my ground though, with the absent, weightless ignorance that things will go well. I knew I had nothing to solidify the fact, but blindly held on to it like a life raft off the titanic, thinking I will see those lights soon--
When I got off the plane, no one was there waiting for me. I was in a country that I didn't know the language to with all my bags and no one to help me. Lucky I didn't panic, I don't know why, thinking back, perhaps my suicidal fixation finally warped my mind into thinking the cyanide kool-aid in the form of being alone was a bitter drink that must be taken sometime. What could I possibly do? Lucky I was able to get online. Skype saved me. I talked to the program workers who scheduled everything and it was a mis-communication on their part, it will only be five hours before I get picked up, perhaps some KFC will remind me of the american processed delicacies that I so freely left behind.
On my first few walks around my mountain town I realized a very important fact. I am the only American most of these people have ever seen. That being so, most glare askance, curious, bewildered, astonished, each time I pass. My every movement is on their radar like I was some endangered animal, does it bite? Dross at every corner, the sky peppered with thick pollution that seeps into your lungs, but the mountains, they are breath taking. It's a nice change of pace from the hustle and bustle of the city I left behind. But, I do miss her...

Like an animal

They watch me with stunning gazes.
Where he from? Where he been?
Their heads swivel as I pass and sounds are mumbled,
nodding, smiling, that empty smile, and
I can feel their uneasiness, or is it mine?
They stare like I'm an animal on display,
foreign to them so don't touch,
walk with sideways glances,
and speak behind backs and walls or in front of me.
It's different, an alien landed in their town and they
need to examine him, read him, question him,
who are you?
The children flock and laugh
with me? at me?
Giggles translate well, so do gestures,
and shrugs, and waves,
our hands speak louder than our words.
Words can have a million meanings, so they don't have one.
A waste land devoid of the luxury of health,
a smog hangs like a ornament on the sky,
Always hazy like a smokers lung,
buildings are beaten and battered, a battlefield,
but it is quaint, it is real,
what is real?
Thinking about things in their way.
And remembering the notions that brought me here.
I did take advantage of those things, but now,
now I know. It is a small token of something else,
that speaks a different language, and
eats hot with hot, not asking for something more than
the little they have.
It is admiration? It is disgust?
I can only tell by the blank stares.
As though they are capturing my soul.
I see the mountains climbing high in the distance
and the hustle, true hustle,
the striving for everyday.
I had no idea.
I can see.

Virtue is the simplest empathy.