becopoetry

Poetry Music Thoughts and Reflections

Bluestone lips — August 5, 2017

Bluestone lips

behind the mirror

 

your rough skin and thick neck

 

my face delivered into working hands

a river salt leached in compounded tide

palms breathing internally like a cup

heels compressed into my chin

into the folds of my forehead

skin peeled fingers

bearing weight

 

your shoulders braced away from wrists

 

 

.

Plato’s Last Supper — June 10, 2017
Passport — April 24, 2017

Passport

1.

on turquoise ground

rooftops are flag forced

revolution red

 

risking reprisals

yellow stars are ripped

only on city outskirts

 

in homage to a stolen lama

Shigaste restaurateurs

pull curtains

over Beijing’s chosen Panchen

 

but back in the capital

binoculars pore over prostrations

and Buddha’s blessings are molested

at temple gate checkpoints

 

machine gun operators

operating their lungs

over chanting nomads

 

om mani padma hung

clockwise hum plaited

in the sound hair of pilgrims

 

melting butter

in the sage fired

Jokhang air

 

in the base of my belly

in my neck

behind my eyes

in my right breast

 

a tourist attraction

 

one way permeability

 

all Tibetan passports

were confiscated in 2012

 

2.

my train reverses

a forty-hour goodbye

 

in the smoke-filled carriage

the beige borders blur

ranges melt

 

I meet an airport gate

I transit out

 

waves folding on the sound

of the 747

 

Air Asia knees

white slippers under blanket

 

in the seat pocket

my travel guide

 

written in English and Chinese

bought at a Beijing station

 

and permitted to enter and leave

Lhasa

Tibet

IMG_6226

Sanctuary — December 3, 2016
Nation — September 23, 2016

Nation

the armed guard is dressed

in 19th century floral

pink stilettos peeking

a shadow of layered petticoat

 

the folds separate the women

from the men and the young

paper coiled into tubes

two eye one at a time

 

a black helmet

upside down nests

an emoji crossed smile

umbered and chained

to feet of old plastic dolls

 

the ivory cat’s reflection rests

in painted boards

sky holes gaping

on serrated mesh

 

a flag wooden is tacked

to a white wall broken

of new foundations

on the third story

bought tolled and taxed

Museum —

Museum

in four limbs around an oval

man cerated

 

edges framed

and falling to cedar

 

expanding in triangular

their shadows white

 

footprints amidst

a maroon sea

 

the light of ceiling

soaked in a leaking flood

 

arial footed

lines pasted to the floor

 

a small diamond window hidden

in the belly of outside

Yesterday’s Bleach — September 12, 2016

Yesterday’s Bleach

After ‘A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed’ by Jonothon Swift

 

 

Sugar granules sink in foam

on a table where Sappho is

 

stuck between pages

preening Ovid’s Amores.

 

A fall happens,

coffee spills on swift shoes,

 

a copy of ‘Men’s Health’

splays on concrete.

 

Behind him, a little black dress

in a window with accessories,

 

gifts, and a stack of books

titled ‘Freedom’.

 

With translation on his lips,

he mouths something

 

about Gulliver, wiping

liquid from the city street.

 

Saying nothing in return,

Corinna picks up her empty cup,

 

cures her hair with a pin

and eyes the messy magazine.

 

Apostrophe driven on bittersweet,

she turns to the sky,

 

O cloudy context fold in,

this battlefield is yesterday’s bleach.