Poems
Paths
Earth does not remember the footprints that marked it
Lives born to its wilderness
Trails crossing its twisting paths
In time when no paths existed
It pays no heed to the husky skin of hard-working palms
To hands that mended materials taken from the crude soil
And shaped them into miracles of man-made design
Carving paths in a slightly gentler way
Like meandering rivers cutting through the earth
So too do paths connect the old world with the new
The dust carried by feet finds its new home
In a far, less distant land
Altars
in steaming shower
razor slices from water to skin
this little effort
tiny specks of commitment
clogging up the drain
each body is perfect,
yet it can be more perfect still
with shoulder-blades peeking
out of the V-neck’s arrow
and hips outlining
the fabric of a skirt
eyes an oasis of pencil and shadow
fading into the fence of mascara,
eyeliner frame enclosing an island
with which she observes
that I have changed my socks
to ones matching my pants
skin ripe with vitamin A
L’Oreal Blueberry hair
I feel it when she smells
Zara Seoul on my neck
which fortunately
she got me for Christmas
our breaths mix in a distilled blend
of Elmex White toothpaste
(she didn’t bring her own)
and Orbit lemon gum
(one was hidden at the bottom of a fruit bowl)
we eat fruits of our labor
each body a temple
for us to decorate
for them to worship
and blaspheme upon
Sun of Glass
Bright
As an everlasting
Light. Warm as a fire of endless
Desire. Huge as an infinity of creations,
Turned from everything to nothing.
My perfect Sun of Glass. On you
I will build the great
Empire.