Viewing entries tagged
glopowrimo2019

sluice

i was born to chill you

lastingly

you’re good at this,

i think post-rinse

my own cold surge turns me tepid

as your nudity swirls for eternity—

contact quick lingers in my membrane;

the filth i came for—all parts out of my purview

the charge is long and clear at last

black suds

deep scents

mingling with your sliced hair

thick but fair unwanted parts

i am nothing but a puddle

set to drain


Ode to Brows

Detract ye from

Uneven tone

Oft picked oversized

Pores

Millenia of thin menthols

Amidst scores of

Hormonal pigmentation

Challenges

As you hug closer to

Obscure

Ink puddles under

Frequently squinting oceans

Of baby blue

Now arched, tinted, shapely

Dramatized, contained

Even when the forehead is paid

Not to move,

You’re emphasizing what the

Rest of the bitch

Face cannot do

a supermarket in taipei

i love eating white girl salads with wooden chopsticks dug from the back of my cutlery drawer

there was an asian woman consulting romaine hearts this evening (i didn’t need any; had halfa heart waiting at home [capers, black olives, questionable carrots, cumin and lime dressing on the side])

she fretted as she compared squatted tossed in turn for as long as it took me to turn my ear screeching cart round to debate why some apples cost more

then i remembered

i couldn’t read chinese


only the small four digit code stickers still familiar;

my high school job punching these aligned with scales, streaming back like the icy blast of the parking lot automatic door opening opening more than closing

cuz it was always christmas in america

and these were rich people

who the fuck still wants fruit in their stocking?—ask if the crab meat is real and quit moaning about what kind of plum i presumed


behave


i wanted to speak chinese

so we could become lovers

lost forever

each armed with one chopstick

poking produce

pinching sense

making small brown spots

monumental in our choosing

weighing centers against the wilt

calculating limp, limbs rooted into each

akimbo is japanese is it not?

and the fuji apples are from where?

the american imports last the least

i’ll take you on the bus to the bourgeoisie

24 hour joint

with stinky cheese


climb in my sheets

leave the spoiling for tomorrow


things that cause me to love the colors yellow

the type of star that is our sun

my hair, if i had to choose a crayon for it

mustard, although spicier is more akin to brown

complimentary to indigo, but hard for scientists to define as such

gold bangles

runny yolks

mac and cheese of childhood: mom’s recipe with shells

thick knits

how it looks with periwinkle

the impossibility of hating it

my pilates ball

my beanbag chair

my obnoxious headphones

my obnoxious pseudo-obsession with gudetama

the right lighting is never white

plus white wine really isn’t very white at all

leaves soft but dead and fallen

legal pads embossed in black ink

the pages of the books which smell the strongest

twinkles lost in turquoise

my goldfish, dead at 8 years old

bananas with great-grandpa in the morning

applesauce before i learnt to chew

my inability to wear it well unless it’s deep hued

autumn

ancient art

saffron

pineapples in styrofoam in saigon

hints in ginger, cumin, turmeric

city lights

caution

that submarine

and the magic school bus too

my first examples of alleged gender neutrality

play-doh

nachos

the six foot sunflower of my weekend youth

number two pencils

my nyc metrocards

beaks

glaze

the chalkprints on my grade school teachers’ slacks

curry, but not my favorite kind

gildedness

gaudiness

the feeling of light in a windowseat

communication

how i know it’ll go with crimson

the light off the atlantic as it hits your pale eyes

clarity, joyfulness

the guitar pick i never used enough to know

ikea bags full of hopes for playing grown-up

giraffes

lemons

being seen, being bright, being wanted

its hints at creaminess

its refusal to not help me to see