Stop

I am not everything I say
If I was then what could I be.

 

Mirror bend me and reflect
What I shape myself into

 

So that am I safe to walk streets.
The Cosby sweater, before

 

It became a mark of shame
Was a cloak of invisibility.

 

The traffic stops, police
Who spit your name at you

 

With the smoothness of fish
Leaping out of the sea.

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Sambo on Xihu

Dances always end where they begin.
They’re like strand of silk that spin

Into long web that disappear.
Who is the speaker that sneers

Just below my voice? A mirror
Is where I often find him but he is

Never satisfied. The oceans could part
And below the docks and piers

Dry land could be rendered from the fizz
And foam of wave. Yet, he would start

Another drink and say he’d seen it before
Before he stands up and walks out the door.

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The Line

Spider web thin and dropped

into the ocean, it become

when waves move it. Something

unseen pulls the line. The

clicks of heels on hardwood

near silence of feet gliding

a floor. Like a fish in the

at night blackness lights we

the pull. A male hand, whose

pressure dips a lady or cause

but it all rest above the

Those magic words “May I have this dance?”

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Wait

She walks across the world, calm as ice and white as lies,

her feet left no impressions,save the ones she wanted.

Wealth displayed in languages and we are supposed

to sign the letter that guarantees knowledge

Instead of strand of pearls she unfurls knowledge

and plies together words in rapid succession. She’d hope

the vaunted words plant pictures of wealth. Hello, is a gauges

of speech that even a poor man can find but studies that stop

at college show a narrow view of the world. Yet, wealth and poverty as states of mind.

 

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The Edge of Autumn

You’ve flirted with the cold,

But it has taken nothing

Save the colors in your skin

And made them more vibrant.

The sunflowers which owned

Field and sky above the empty

lots have been cut down.

Mulch is there new name and

their wealth has been smashed

In the time just after summer,

The sun, hidden beneath clouds

is pale or grey even and the trees grow

long thin nails and hair. Winter

sits in its car awaiting the world’s

approach. When it picks up

the world up. It will turn on

its high beams, turn up the A/C

And takes us all for a spin.

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Summer Broke

Winter is a designer

Of funeral. She tends to

A pallet of extremes,

Crimson, and yellows.

The yellows

Are bright to pale

But rarely do they

Paint in green

Because, that

so last season.

Yet, who doesn’t love

Summer. Hell in America,

the money is verdant,

the cool faces of slave owner

forever caught in their height

While, reminding America

Of it depths. The unburied

bodies are fresh deep browns,

worked until the flesh stuck to bones.

Lashes expose the crimson just beneath

the fresh brown and this is spring.

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A John’s understanding II

The world is disposable

people can be tossed aside

after you’ve done with them. Love,

is just a way we cloth lust and loneliness

with cheap lace and the twenty kuai perfume. Hip, thighs, breasts are consumables like a pill on your tongue

or the the last taste in your mouth.

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When the machines take over

When the machines take over

they will find sleeping

at our desk or in our offices

doing Yoga.In “child’s pose”

on a bare cement floor or hunched

from working twelve-hour-a-day jobs

and barely seeing

a dime we’ve worked for.

 

When the machines take over,

our children will cradle them.

They will know the machines

as friend and cousins and no man

will be without one. Each circuit

will be a link and a love letter in this

murder-suicide.

 

When the machines take over

they will follow us like nannies.

They ‘ll tell us where to have dinner

or how to dress ourselves. Make-up

tips and how to be a man will be illustrated

by the machines. Men will attempt to scream

or hide but the machines will reassure

you that your destruction benefits

you and before your final moment

they will ask for your consent and you

will say “Yes”.

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100 Undoings

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***

Triple Redaction

Sources Texts

a. Donald Trump’s Inaguration Speech (2017)

b. He’s a battle Ax

c. The Devil Advocate (1997, Dir. Taylor Hackford)

 

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West Nanjing Road

 

Every six weeks I must listen to the name

of the stop that signaled home for me in China.

Zhongshan park lead me to the bund

And out to that arc of water which carves

The skyline into an even face that

Catches the light and bends it into

What every you can imagine, but

Always in a tinted of crimson.

 

 

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