HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT
~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
the lines under his eyes,
as though tearing
off a creased love note.
Drain these tears, the cause
of so much rot. Fill
the hollows of a heart
that failed him - cement and chemical.
The body is only a boat
we steer till disembarking.
I polish the wood
till it gleams the unearthly colour
of gold. He is dead now,
no one would want
to touch him.
I paint his lips, adding the last
stroke of colour to close
the circle, locking it shut.
[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators
[people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel .
[other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc
[me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca.
[yesterday]
she tells me, he was heavy when he left . i can't...
today was a hot day. unusually hot. spring is here...
suddenly, she was excited, closed the book, with a...
i found a room full of glass today. i read about t...
mother called, left a voicemail. the snow is clear...
in summer, i will take a flight to beijing, by mys...
new paltz, new york.
meeting poet ken french and his partner is lovely....
the paradox of pain (from the book of 5am stories)
i miss humidity, thunderstorms, perspiring and wea...
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