Belle Blu

Never have I seen a girl as stunning as she
by the shoreline of the summer Celtic Sea.
Held captive by the golden sun shining in her hair,
I hoped, as she walked, she’d see me standing there.
I wanted to know her name,
such blinding beauty in a blue daisy sundress.
Would she link arms with me for a sean-nós dance?
I was just a boy dreaming of his future bride
when I first laid eyes on Bella Blu,
a girl with whom my heart could hardly wait to entwine.

# This is a collaboration with Bree Leto. Bella Blu is the name of a boat I saw parking at the Marina di Cagliari.

Why I Don’t Drink (much)

Alcohol is like a slippery sliding door into darkness.
When I step through it,
the haunting past, the rest in terror, the failure, and the hurt are endless.
No matter what positive emotions I feed it,
nothing grows in a place without light.

Crash Landing

I don’t remember making any promises.
A runaway child with shifting sandcastle dreams.
I am here with you; the whole of me, to you, is not enough, is insufficient.
What can promises do?
They don’t anchor my heart.
They don’t keep me wearing your scent.
They don’t keep my legs jelly and from wandering.
Let the kite fly freely to its ruin
by cutting the string.
Please!

Inseparable

I believe you are resting deep in the ocean, sometimes coming up for air bubbles.
Responding to the sound of your breathing, paintbrushes dropped onto pebbles still radiating the warmth of summer scotch.
I rushed out wearing only my jeans, escaping the slumbering heat and running towards you.
The waves draped themselves around my jeans like a night serpent, slowing me down as they tightened around my ankles and calves, crawling up to my crotch. The buttons were torn open recklessly, breaking free.
I began to trek through the saline foam, following the sound of you.
You were calling me to go skinny-dipping with you again, moving in synchronisation. I was well aware that I was alone in the dark water, trying once more to listen to your streams of consciousness as they formed poetry.
I dived into the depths where your voice became clear, arousing me once again and offering us the chance to become one for the thousand and thousandth time.

Train Trip Ponder

The train is chugging through the open plain.
Sunflowers flash before my eyes,
like sour lollies exploding on my taste buds.

I imagine the smell of green grass and dry hay, remembering the harvest moon and village celebrations. I was too young to be drunk on rice wine; instead, we gorged ourselves on roasted peanuts and bamboo shoots. We didn’t care about the char and bitterness, washing them down with strong green tea until our bellies ached.


As the train journey is anchored by the clouds above, my sense of self is defined by the happy memories of childhood.

思念 （Longing）

很想把阴毛碾成灰
如有脱落的牙齿一齐寄去
彼岸的思念并不遥远却漫长
走着走着只剩自己与影子
人老珠黄的期盼
何日君为郎
莫慌莫慌
送上一叠 褶子
朦胧双眼与余下银发

I long to grind my pubic hair to ash
and send it along with any fallen teeth.
The longing from the other shore is not far, yet it feels endless.
Along this long walk, only my shadow remains.
Like a pearl that has lost its luster,
the waiting is long-suffering.
When will you return to me?
Be patient!
For now, I send you a stack of wrinkles,
my blurry eyes, and the remaining silver in my hair.

*The Chinese version was written by Jun.

Time-traveling Lovers

The old clock
hung meaningless
on the limestone wall of separate dimensions,
the mantel of time-traveling lovers.

An artificial fireplace burning
with blue tongue and amber arms
tangled between the Boston snowstorm
and the Gold Coast heatwave.

Synced are their pace
and the speed of their heartbeats.

It’s not by accident
that he’s learned to
wake when she wakes
and sleep when she sleeps
even half a globe away.

Time became irrelevant.
His circadian rhythm
has shifted towards hers.

*Another collaboration with Benjamin Grossman. Thank you my friend!

FORGIVENESS

You were too young to know
the treasure of a child.
Bloated burden, unflattering.
Days of the velvet liquid,
murmurs between skins,
even the aroma of coffee
died abruptly.
Feeling unloved and ugly
is an unwanted sword,
like the seed in your womb
severing the sacred attachment.

I held on to the fragments of you
that were beautiful.
Because of your absence,
I learned to love books,
and when I wrote
I thought of the mystery of you.
Imagination attached me to you again.
Any missing pieces in me,
I filled with you.

As a full-grown woman,
I finally got to know you.
You were defeated, having lost the lushness of life.
The ugliness of your sin ripped me apart
like childbirth all over again.
Isn’t it ironic that
now you have shown up in my life again?
You are almost too much in my face,
causing me to lose balance.
I stumbled
in the tangled thickets of a prodigal mother.

I’d never know why you walked out on me.
It’s not something I need to know anymore.
Ma, I forgive you, your cruelty, selfishness, and entitlement.
I have peace knowing you are incapable of love.
They are your demons, not mine to slay.

Meet Me in Boston

You used to go anywhere,
hopped on a train,
caught a plane
to be there,
if only in the hope of a chance
to be with your girl.

Nowadays,
you don’t move,
you stay put.
Love has to find a way
to meet you
in your comfort zone.

I bought a ticket
to come as far as I can.
Even with clipped wings,
you have to pack your bag,
meet me in Boston
for an awkward hug,
for a chat over tea.

If you don’t want to stay,
just wait five minutes
to give it another chance,
to give me another reason
not to run away.

*When I can’t write, I ask for help. Benjamin Grossman helped me to write this piece through collaboration. Thank you my friend.

Your Eyes Tell All

I look into your mahogany orbs
and remember the golden honey they once were.
Time exacerbates your sorrow,
spiraling down, down, deep into darker eternity.