Tanka

 

Chen-ou Liu, CA   between my hands there is a physical urge unruly inside my heart the shadow curls up crying     the shadow claimed I was the sun and will be again for I am not going away I've lived underground since     they cut out half of his inside filling him with the chemicals, the pain... she pounds the table, I want...     I wake from the Taiwanese song mother hummed decades ago— autumn rains on the roof     moonlight spills over her body once again my fingers follow her curve into dawn     Ozymandias… in wind-blown sand I write my poem where it's read, revised and then erased     you are a verb transitive, on the move I am an adverb wondering where to go... what shall our subject be?     blinded by blazing winter sun I hide behind closed eyes, reading the weight of each passing face     Marry me today and every day Mary... he flies a blimp over a rooming house     its lone face stares out from behind glass steamed from panting... are we kin to each other?     my mind emptied of thoughts opens closes as autumn gusts blow