The poet has the high command He lines up his cavalry of tin words In the beginning he polished them He was still learning at the time Now the poet is the barbarian who changed clothes with their general And then orders them to charge at him and there they come – How sweet their

Message to the future

I risk an early death by sitting down for this so listen: my clavicles move like daggers to write cut-throat poetry for you no jokes. no mirrors. This here is a message you cannot unread. Also, it ages less quickly than we do. When you and I have turned into dust, this thing will be


In my mind I have created a garden populated with insects who don’t bite and birds who don’t shit on my paper when I write there is a lily pond, with frogs who know Bach However, they keep quiet. This is my refuge where nothing pierces through the surface every ripple is merely the smile

Person of color

A person of color walks into a bar he gets seated on a prominent stool and whispers “triple scotch please” the bartender, who since the unfortunate event two weeks ago, is a person of color too, says right away sir and pours his drink and Nina sings Nina Simone was a person of color, too.


In Vegas and Macau they have fake Eiffel towers. Smaller of course than the original in Paris. They are there to invoke Paris. The Eiffel tower is 324 meters high I learned that number in school. One day someone will build a taller one in Shanghai or Dubai or Doha or such place Years will amplify

“As a writer, I’m more interested in what people tell themselves happened rather than what actually happened”


After the boil you wait. Then you pour. Then you wait again. Three minutes. And then you press down. Slowly. Each morning, I serve myself a cup of coffee. I smile for my master who is so free, almost like me We both saw a full moon last night and she turned us into a