Cantonese Californian – last poem 2010


Cantonese Californian
with the pretty hair and pretty eyes and ugly mouth

You always had to spare us
from the bitter truth that mouth would always shout

And when we forgot
you never held it against us
no matter how we deserved, such

Cantonese Californian
or is it Californian Cantonese?
can’t say I was ever too good with adjectives

It’s like a one-way street in in Hong Kong
who knows which way to, in all that dramatic midst of shit?

The California household
and the Cantonese air
mix together with a twist

Sunglasses, and slanted-white-eyes
It’s you we swore we’d never miss

And as the sun sets–
or is it the reverse?

Never was too good at directions
it’s that ancient curse . . .

And I’d never even known the wiser
Cuz I never studied that charter
Too busy getting over my first!

Can’t cure a disease
when you won’t admit if it hurts

And that’s enough
Because we trust
That you couldn’t make it any worse . . .





Literally Worlds Apart


Trapped in a room
it’s scary outside
With nothing to do
and nowhere to hide
You had a thought
but you can’t remember your dreams
Not since we all fought
nothing is as it seems
Literally worlds apart
I’m on Alpha Centauri
and you’re on Mars
or Beta Centauri?

How boring
Twelve light years away
no warp speed[TM] in sight
Your saving your change
for the chance might be slight
But if we invented a contraption
we might all have a chance
To save all the synapses!
and have a last dance…

Cheers to never forgetting
and never remembering
and live in the moment
alone, it’s an omen
a cherished approachment
to all nature’s encroachments

How horrid
Who wants it?




Sit and Stare


Sit and stare, stand and stare
out the window, there is a balloon, in the air
stabbed in the back, in the back of the neck
Central cortex backside’s bet
Hear a pop
here nor there
There’s a pup
See it anywhere

Broken elevator drops
zero G is oh-so hot
Don’t care, earphones here
Don’t swear, mother’s near

These are the thoughts that entertain
And more and more to pass the blame
And less and less when time’s the same
Lest no on knows, or there’d be shame
But we’re glad you came




Verse – old poem 2010



It’s a little ridiculous
to expect any less
It’s a tad bit presumptuous
to pay the charge, and make a fuss
Enjoy what you got
What you got is quite hot
In the temperate sense of the word
In the metaphoric meaning of this term
It’s a turn
And it isn’t
It’s unheard
What you didn’t

Dancing, the plastic trees sing
Taste in your mouth, colors are drifting
With every motioning wind
More peels and pails of skin
Streetlamp is smiling
Eye’s music is frowning
And the clowns marching music is daunting

Just a little bit further
One more check of the clock’s tick-tocking ticker
You can’t understand
This profound kind of math
Least I have no hand
to check-mark every grain-tinkle of sand

I do have a cap, most verifiably thinking
It’s just that I ate it, and now it’s all, um,



Part II Verse Verse Verse

Tear, Wear, the Hair
Spill, kill, uphill!

Urban shamanic retreat
Spa colonic fungal infection in heart

Pupils are dilating
Guts churning a-frightening
and tip-toe the pattering feet

and graffiti the art scene of meat
twelve turns of the hourly beat

Farts, flesh, finagle!
Time bends to the brainwave’s falafel

Never seen such sweet curvature
of the spine
of the earth
Never thought such neat empties
of the city
of girls
of worlds
Infinite conceptual abstractions a-blaze
of circles
the Earth,
give birth

moon, moon, plastic moon


Sept., 2010



The Moon isn’t there
And nobody cares
The daylight is screaming
The twilight receding
And you aren’t here

The stars in the city
Invisibly swimming
But the moonlight
It stays bright
And your obscene, yes somehow, is fitting

Do we see the same sky?
When we star up, and we’re high?
Or is the Moon an illusion?
An optical trance-state
A visionary-escapist intrusion?

I don’t believe in stars
Here in the city
The distances between us
It’s just much too far
To buy the idea
Of gaslights exploding
And sunlights departing
And gravity’s spinning, while atmospheres boiling
And dying

No, there is no moon
But there may be a sun
Yes, we might see the same one…




Identical Crisis – an old poem


Identical Crisis

I’m a son
I’m a bun
I don’t work
It don’t hurt
Tell me what to be
Show me what to see
So I can know
And scream and grow
And cry on the sidewalk
And die, and hide
And crawl, and talk

Because I am smart
I read a book
I am lying
I’m a crook
I stole this line
And lost a shoe
It’s not a sign
It isn’t true
That I am lost
I have a plan
To steal socks
and live in a van
Or hide in a park
Or explode my heart

Or die alone
With a million dollars
And sing along
While the world goes smaller







Time is running out
We’ll all live forever
Countdown to Doomsday
Utopia isn’t very clever
If we don’t die tomorrow
We’ll survive another day
If we don’t ever have to die
Then there shall be an eternity to play
If that doesn’t work
We’ll figure something out
Write a self-help book about it
And never have a doubt
That life’s a happy rainbow
With happy stupid people
Singing, dancing, dying
All by way of needle
Skipping Revelations
The future… is wide… open
I heard that in a song
At least, that’s what I’m hoping






It’s time for presents
Not time for violence
Plan on plenty
No time for silence
Bug your parents
Spend repentance
Buy me love
Spread connections
I want it now
There is no patience
I want it fresh
Not to wait for inheritance
Shiny trinkets
Cost imperative
Binding light-rays
I swear it is
Cuz I deserve it
Mommy knows this
So throw away the old
Make room for new shit
Pay your bills
With indebted interest
They say it’s worthless
But don’t believe it
It’s very important
That I collect each every bits
Junkie sit-ins
God is angry
If I don’t get presents



 July, 2008

Girls and Boys, Voids and Voids – o.p. 08 vii

Girls and Boys, Voids and Voids

There’s a girl in Hollywood
Ecstatic behind her eye
Her heart bursts through veiny flesh
And there is void between her souls

While the worker bees slave for their queen
The royalty of dollars and dog tags
Bloody fingers typing
Enter data
For your queen
And you will be rewarded!

It’s a pretty good deal
All you have to be is death

There is a faggot in the basement!
And he dances a chemical dance
to Rain Gods long forgotten
Lock him up
Or give him money
His shoes of icy spikes will kill us all
Make a choice

Stocks are traded, gold is hoarded
The where, her prince goes in in value
The applicants line up behind
No shortage of love
around here

Step in line for liquid freshness

There’s a drunk on the street corner
with dull stories, to trade for light
Beneath the city’s rainwater
Where stands a celebrity’s blindness
And a cop writes a ticket
and a guitar strummer sings
and a poeter bleeds poison
and a mother worries forever
and an addict mixes synthetics
and the Chinese bake bread
and a dog picks through the rubbish
and a bird crashes through windows
and a Spider dies for her children
and a bacteria colony lasts a thousand generations

and a child forgets your name

and a child goes silently

Don’t you know there’s a war on?
For whose sex is priciest?
And whose void is darkest
And our army will win
Because nature abhors a substance

And my love is conditional

And the world spins slow

And dreams are no fun
not when there’s work to be done





DISNEYLAND – old poems 2008 vi



I write love stories, for stupid children

Happy faces make happy places
Buy shit you don’t need

Let’s spin in the tea cups
and dance and pee and sing

(And buy shit we don’t need)

I’d be so madly in love with you
if only you had good posture

Life would be so great
if only the government would give me more free money

And I’d write a happy ending
if only I was any good at that.




Weirdo on the bus – old poems 2008 v


Weirdo on the bus
breathes heavy

I politely ignore

Your tar-black eyes

Weirdo on the bus
hums to himself
sings to us all
A warning
of danger

I’m sorry I don’t have any change

I lie

And I can’t wait
to step off the bus
and forget you exist




3 A.M.s to hold on to – old poems 2008 iv


3 A.M.s to hold on to

If I…
(Poems that start with “If I…”)
If could save these 3 A.M.s
I’d have more time
If I was asleep
Instead of on the Internet
till dawn
looking at porn
I wouldn’t be so busy with everything else

I like my 3 A.M.s
I hate my 3 A.M.s
But I love my 3 A.M.s
me and the goddess and my credit card number
and video

No, If I saved them up
I’d have more time
for Netflix
Or, uh, read books.




VOMITOUS – old poems 2008 iii



My empty stomach begs
I won’t suffer to pay
no scrap or change
or food I say
Just keep drindindrink all night and day

Smoke this herb and cough
Make sure your throat is rough
And don’t forget to drink that shot
It’s spicy liquored laugh
The kind you always loved and liked and lost

There is no need to eat
Amongst party favor treats

And at the end of night,
no complaints
When a vacuum implosion fight
Aimed and dead-of-rights
Up and up
It tastes so sweet

A lesson learned today?
Instead ask if you may
Drink and smoke and swallow and squeeze
It’s all good for you
It’s what you need

Lap it up
It tastes so sweet




Kill Awake – old poems 2008 ii



Why do they say “fall asleep”?
Why don’t they say “Kill awake”?
Sounds easier
Same number of syllables
What’s the difference?
Perhaps they’re afraid

I don’t remember my dreams
Not the ones from last night
Or last week
Or twenty-years back…
Not the dreams of a short kid
Staring at the sky
The moon’s face grinning
Declaring, loudly
“I want to be a –”
Well I don’t know
I don’t remember

Any other puns?
Any intro-duck-tions?
Any quacks? Quantums?
Any hot or olds?
Or snow-frosts on my cake
With sweat and sour taste?
I kill awake
And I fall apart
With the knife
Into that gravity-
We’ll all forget eventually




Drown – Old Poems 2008 I



I want to drown
Lungs to suck
I want to own
Someone to fuck
But I want a sale
don’t pay that much
For the price I’d pay
I wouldn’t get very much
But if I drowned
The ocean would rape my breath
What a sound!
Watery road to death
And all for free!
I’d pay for that
My kind of fee
They don’t charge too bad