Sunlight
inches across
the far wall; when my words
finally touch you, I watch them
bounce off.
A Late Farewell
So long,
I say to him
as if love alone could
somehow touch someone who’s been gone
so long.
Real Masala
Beneath
the film hoarding*
a young beggar sings
timeless Hindi tunes about love
and death.
In Dali, Yunnan
I try
to count a flock
of swooping pigeons, but
they veer, shimmer, and turn into
the sun.
Acting
I speak
as if you hear
and act as if you watch;
I pretend that I don’t know you
don’t care.
A Future
Unforetold
I step
inside the tent;
the psychic motions me
to sit and tells me all about
herself.
The Malaria
Sufferer’s Revenge
Come now,
my buzzy friend,
to rest upon my arm
and ponder the sound of one hand
swatting.
Middle-Age (Dis)pleasures
I love
a cup of tea
in the evening with you
but detest the nocturnal schlep
to pee.
Asking for
Directions
Who knows
where we end up?
I’ve been asking around
but the living are dumb, the dead
don’t talk.
Wake up and
Smell the Gunpowder
6:10
Year of the Rat:
It will be a long day,
starting with this fireworks war
at dawn
