for you.

you and that fist full of red hair,
her red hair and strands of light...
you had your palms sweat and pull;
a king would not reign with those hands.

i am sorry my eyes do not shine,
they went unlighted, never fueled.
i am sorry for lips that touched,
doors you could not open.

voices shredded on the floor:
tiles warming up under
her fire kindling low
then higher, higher.

baby birds break in air,
like springtime wronged.
so april hailed,
it's come early this year.

i saw
reddish purples and
bluish greens on
tasteless tongues.

i saw
broken lips and
broken doors:
broken and entered.

i saw
then, too much
of her in you,

and you in her.

play in the afternoon.

in my seat, the lights turned down

then twirled around and found

themselves focused

at center stage

where the main couple danced

their hands around there

to be touched and held

i looked up and saw her there

in her sunday theatre chair

in her view her man-child slow 

dancing with an other lady-girl

she was she who was pretty 

and soft and white

and red lips and eyeyeyes

she looked at his hands feeling

still deeper in her spine

still stronger on her flesh

white in white dress

her soft brown hair closer

than two seconds before

by his face and tallall neck

they danced with their feet

their legs arms hands

their belly buttons shy

their gregarious chests coy

she imagined clothed nip nipples 

playing hide and seek

playing honey, do you love me?

her face so in the still lighted room

stole i some stares as she stared

at their hidden playground games

red light green light then 

stop and move

his hands 

her white waist white waist white

oh my dear oh

oh

oh my oh my my

oh

dim the lights

oh how they change

oh away her face away she turns.

half a movie.

you remind me of my mother,
the way you fell asleep
when the movie was deceivingly
quiet, and blood began to seep.

my mother always said to me:
yes, a movie, can we watch it together?
then showed me the many films
she took out from queens central library.

but, of course, i picked
none of them (they were all chinese):
"no, this looks pretty bad..."
or "i don't have time."

she always watched them with me,
or, promised to watch them with me,
when i picked the movie (almost never chinese).
then for some reason, she'd fall asleep.

she didn't understand english,
or spanish or french,
but mostly, i think it was because
she didn't understand dark humor at all.

for the first few times,
i tried to wake her; sometimes,
she woke up to look at me,
but never for long.

after that, sighs
then, bitter eyes with sighs
then, hard, darting stares
at the breathing body that didn't care.

but once, i imagine,
all she did was stare
at a breathing body that didn't care;
i don't think she was ever angry at me.

the word.

she says it

like she says all her words
short and constant
fading colors

as she drops her papers,
or wakes up late,

stumbling over

the stumbling floor

she says it
the way the trainman
punches our tickets.
cliclick

the faucet turns on
you rinse your hands
the faucet turns off
you flick flick flick

that's how she says it,

that's how she says shit.