medicine tree

cross eternity

with me

maybe not

maybe hide

behind my medicine

tree

behind pills

and pulls

and puffs

and that’s

where you belong

on that faraway

land

isolated

raging desire

waiting

catatonically

still,

me in

bones

 

 

 

still i cannot

make my mind

up,

will you

be my personal

turpentine?

that’s to decide

until you

show up at

the pit of my stomach

familiar,

hunger

 

 

dear

medicine tree,

 

 

i’m sorry

if i’m not,

chewing

swallowing

chewing

and if i am,

either way,

i’m scared,

but i’m

not

and i

want to

see your

skin tight

dry crusting

lips bugging

begging

but i do

and i don’t,

and i don’t know

whether to swallow

your pill,

or not,

or swallow it,

then spit it out

 

 

so if i have

this masochistic desire that

underwires the

fire between

my brows

forgive me if

i like to deprive

in order

to strive

so slowly,

slowly i’ll

hide a few snicks

and snacks

here and there

and i’ll stop

gulping that last

spoonful

i’ll stop sitting

i’ll stop breathing

i’ll stop expanding

or contracting

 

 

sit under

my medicine tree

i’ll pass you a pill

i won’t ask you to

pick between

blue or red

because i won’t

be the pill

but the space

between them

resting along

your ribs

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mystical speaking

she spoke of realms that exceeded the world and overflowed your mind, sprinkling evanescent glitter on the top of your head with the tips of her fingers. Open your mouth, she’ll place a pill behind your tongue; and it spreads like acid as she speaks of these unknown worlds, mouth shaping sound after sound oh so majestically. now you’re in a state of bliss questioning whether space even exists or does it only appear between each blink of her incandescent blue lashes. she speaks in elision and you also wonder if she’s got human blood flowing in her veins or does she come from mercury or some other elegant planet? one moment or another you’d expect her to turn taciturn, lean over, slice your tongue in half, pocket the pill and replace it with sugar.

you want her to teach you how to see sunlight under leaves or count how many arteries a tree has compared to a wave because you feel like she controls it all, controls how strongly the wind blows or how many clouds there will be today and what shapes they will form. but you know she’s most enchanting under an eclipse’s moonlight or early dawn, barefoot on your terrace. jaw slightly slack, eyelids too, and of course, speaking. you’ll make her soft fur accent into a pillow and fall asleep, dreaming of all those faraway realms she says one day she’ll visit.

capsize

I can’t muster up,

roll up,

a compendium of courage

just enough

to balance onto this string,

so i’m always on

tiptoes,

either grappling for gravity

or

floating (so high I can’t feel my fingers)

 

teach me these few

things, how not to:

clip fingernails to

split knives, then try to trace my face

or smash teacups

because the house has

ceased to whisper (i can’t stand silence)

or scorch the tips of pencils

when words stay hanging below my throat,

limply,

refusing to move any

farther onto paper

 

sometimes,

if my mind eases on the accelerator,

i’ll make sure to

stand under a storm

and hope for lightning

i’ll have my hands full of

plasma coalesced into electricity

(so blue it could burn your eyes)

at least there’s this

effervescence,

i may say,

that I can dissect,

squint into,

pick and fiddle with

like an old toy

made out of unknown

mechanisms

 

my life is a time bomb

and i’m running away from

the silence between each tick

tick

tick.

from feeling like

an empty hotel room with

undone beds.

don’t leave me vacant,

 

 

I’d rather capsize a boat

than have it float

sparkling water

Frizzling,

sparkling water

effervescent

trepidation

on the edge

of serenity

 

capsules of gas

clumped up like

clams

coating the bottle’s

edges

 

a few brave ones

push off

shoot off

towards the glimmering

exit sign.

the portal to the

external

breathing world.

 

they start off

timidly advancing

upwards,

trembling,

trying to justify their

actions,

then…

pop!

off they go

hitting the water

surface,

and disappearing

with a glint

 

a cry for freedom

from the ones left

behind as you

close the bottle

aluminum plates/airplane ride

It feels so raw,

skin burns on every surface I

press onto.

I’m slicing myself up

to fit into the small seat

compartment

where both handles by

my side are magnets

pulling towards each other

 

the plane aches too.

like my mind,

it swindles,

wobbles,

trembles for a split

second.

before allowing a moment

of catatonic stillness

 

stillness that’s ready to

pounce

my thoughts

ready to bounce

off any

surface, just waiting

for the night light

to shine orange,

or the unlatching

of a seatbelt.

 

anything to grasp on to

hungrily, and

claim it

for its own,

interlaced with

the past,

and

maybe something

stranger.

 

i’ll sit back and allow

it all to

linger

A stranger and two enemies

The bus lurches to a stop. I press my coat against the suspended windows and I turn my head. The rain is sliding down, shimmering, running across the image of the moon melting into the clouds. The world is crying.

The bus doors open silently: they are trying to keep the sleeping passengers dormant. Carrying my bulky bag with both hands off the bus, my wallet drops on the floor. I hastily pick it up. Dropping it into my coat pocket, I notice two other strangers by my side. They’re busy. Or maybe they are just scared of being lonely. Either way, I shouldn’t care

 

“It seems like you don’t have an umbrella.”

One of the strangers glances at me, fleetingly. She has a curious glint in her eyes. Her tight platinum colored hair reflects green highlights. She lets me step under her umbrella and we start walking. A strange feeling of safety settles through my mind.

 

We listen to the pitter-patter of the rain.

 

“The rain’s telling us a bed time story,” she states, and I watch her rubbery boots hit a small puddle.

 

“You’re right,” I say after a moment.

 

I ponder over her statement again. The more I think of it, the more it weighs on my mind. I can’t decipher it.

 

We suddenly stop walking.

 

Together, we look around the half asleep city. Shards of sharp moonlight shine through the puddles. Our eyes trace the fluorescent rows of windows from apartments nearby. I feel my mind has stopped working. I can’t help but behold such sight.

 

The city is wrapped in the moon’s soft but firm grasp. Looking up, watery streetlights are delicately glowing. My eyes take in each detail, hungrily but cautiously. I am afraid everything will unfold before me too fast. I taste out all the sensations of the moment. Nature has just decided to put together two enemies, the rain and the moon, and made a miracle out of it. It is so beautiful. I lose my breath.

 

The stranger’s silhouette shrinks and I feel drops of moisture slide down my body. I raise my hand to say goodbye. She winks, one hand in her coat pocket. Just like that, she melts away from my sight. I slide my hands down my pockets too. The wallet is gone.

Broken Promises

She looked at him, amazed, with pure joy. It was as if she’d seen him for the first time. For her, he was like a luminescent spark appeared after rubbing two rocks together for countless minutes. Her eyes admired every single bit of the man she knew so well.

She was leaning towards him in her bed, her frail body almost trembling with emotion. Continue reading