Confessions

Plastic priestesses,

holding my childhood secrets

in their little hands.

Fall

What cannot take root,

Must then pass as a whisper -

like a falling leaf.

Satire

Like a skilled actress,

The city decides how it

wants to frame its face.

Prayer

There you held my hand,

your face lit by neon gods

My prayer is my sin.

Dystopia

If your heart is a

city, will I find a home

or a dystopia?

Graffiti

Urban art, some say,

is the answer to what the

System tries to kill.

Muse

The sea will always

Remind me of my father

and his tragic muse.

 

Geisha

Whiter shade of pale.

Gentleman's silence, beneath

A coy bud blossomed.

Icarus

No other wings but

these. Tireless suns, lighting

the road leading home.

Hope

If my vibrancy

Can only be braced for one

look, let it be yours.

The Songs Are So Free

The songs are so free:

Ungoverned, reality

takes wings in verses.

Teacher

Ate a persimmon,

while reading Auden. What rhymes,

could this mime, summon?

Sunset

Waiting, forever

For that last light, to become

A permanent hue.

Your Light

Glowing, like the end

of a gentleman's cigarette,

Almost in my reach.

Education

April in Beijing.

We were May and December,

Aptly Forbidden.