Juno

how does it feel to walk with a lion's name? all the glory is in your black mane. you show those teeth to your prey and my eyes just had to step away from my instincts and translate it as a living smile you would flash each day instead of a killer bite you would press onto me one day. how brave of you to stand in front of me face-to-face, how wise of you to formulate all those words and sentences and let them sail at the air to my ear trails. you planned the whole serving on the tray and let them marinate in my brain. now you have hypnotized your prey.

man cleansed in robes of white, holding the pages of the witnesses of christ, is no different from man stained in a sentence to a time holding the bars of the deprived.

for he has set his god-gifted hands in pursuit of his devil-driven plans: to unlatch the shells of the chosen, reach through the expanse of muscle and innocence, examine the breadth, go the extra length.

he opens his mouth to entreat for daily bread, and opens the same to utter that which ought not to be said. with his tongue does he confess of the times he has been mistaken, and with the same tongue does he conceal that which should not be hidden. he fixes his eyes upon the listeners of the savior, and hearkeneth unto his heart to discern which soul next to savor. he lifts his hands to seek the presence of the lord, and raises those blessed hands to fulfill his own endeavors.

come, sunshine, dive into the blend

cling the pots and clang the cups

aid me with putting the blue to an end

yellow shall be all the eyedrops

however the pen shall stay blue with its skin

blue is the color of the ink it had always dropped

where shall i store this yellow thing?

maybe i should leave it by the countertop

i cannot, i cannot— akin to it is sin

there is no escape from fate's plot

the fisherman— for me and for sadness, he doubled the knot

do tell, if my heart shall beat for its own

under the sense of the word "eternity"?

oh, where to store all this ability of love i have shown?

to a name who has my heart, who has my fantasy

what a shame to profess to a man whom reality has

never known

repeating sets of thirty days to be able to say "finally"

last friday, miss april sent me a letter to read

she assigned my sister as the mailer for the deed

it was not a good morning indeed for the nineteenth

miss april told me i have crushed my own dream

read the words "thank you" and lie down on the sheets

you cannot be the individual you saw yourself to be

last night i got drunk on my own tears

and smoked a roll of sought dreams for cheers

until i lost the driver of my body for the steer

my machine shut down on the kitchen floor with the ground kissing my ear

i crushed my own dream, i crushed my own dream

i cannot be the individual i saw myself to be

today is the second of my three-day leave

spent the whole day with nobody near me

i am surprised i have not thought of the scorching heat

my skin had been too focused on the scorching pity

maybe tomorrow i can smoke and drink solitarily

halfway through this second decade, i was certain i'd stay in the platform with a banner behind me saying that i shall never think of having children. simply because i will not be able to marry and move in with a lady— the supposed to-be mother of my baby, the multiplicand i need to raise the product of our love— for a lifetime.

but also because my heart had always been the moses to my ocean. i am forever broken apart. i am forever separated from the love fantasy of man and woman.

and also that the presence of kids will alter the idealisation of the life i want to live. because having children means raising your right hand and stating an oath— solemnly and sincerely promising that you will truly and faithfully, and to the best of your skill and knowledge, execute the powers and trusts reposed in you for them.

i meditate under the sun, "do i not want children in order to have all the time and riches to myself? . . . or because i do not wish to become like my father?"

as time ran through me, it carried me to this groundhole i never thought i would examine. that i never thought i would dive in. perhaps i will marry --> but with another man. and we could just scoop up one of the children from some adoption center. and i will probably feel guilty if all the other kids would raise their arms to us, asking to be carried. asking to be loved. guilt will rinse me by the time . . . because the real kind of rich in life is the love you shall get from the people you also give your love to.

by the time the cockroaches come by

and my parents are resting tight

i will slide my window open and tiptoe

wait for a ride as you wait for me to show

if the sky tears up and i forget to bring my shade

it wouldn't bother me that much anyway

i did not withstand storms just to worry of a little rain

if traffic gets in the way as i expect it

i will probably feel like dying from the excitement

and you, maybe irritated

but that just means more time for me to think of ways

to satisfy you when i get to your place

have you in my arms as i say your name

the way you would like to see it in my face

by the time you have dispensed in me your love

we could lay down and just look at your stuff

i may call it sweet; you, something regarded no more of above

but i am not the type to just lie in silence

i will probably tell you my dreams of berlin or los angeles

and you might just fall asleep from my nonsense

as i slide my hands calmly on your surface

i will wish you a good night

let your subconscious do a story time

with your precious eyes closed tight

and in the blue and blackness of it

my lips will approach your ears

let the current of my words flow through softly

is there a word for something of both want and need?

i don't feel like browsing a dictionary

or my phone to look for what i mean

but i have the senses of the body

more vivid than what a singular word can speak

the sounds of folk when i write

the sounds of avians when i stare at the sky

the smell of a newly washed pillowcase

the smell of flowers filling my headspace

the sight of my sister enjoying her ice cream

the sight of my cats bathing in the sunbeam

the savor of popcorn when i watch a movie

the savor of jam extracted from strawberries

the stroke of my dogs' noses in my palms

the stroke of my hands on the leaves by the lawn

the feeling when there's water coming out the faucet

the feeling when i'm hanging out with my friends

the feeling when i immerse myself in an experience

the feeling when someone told me to love myself

because it's not all about the looks of my shell