Saturday, April 09, 2005


Brown shoes slick.
Torn between lips that offer llittle to consider
How one should love his own.
Familiar lines, creased skin, telltale lies.
There goes my beautifully estranged autumn,
Whose colors never fade while the wind remains.
Delinquent leaves continue their rush
Toward winter.
Still you accomoddate my memory.
Less is never mine.
Willful hands continue.
The echo calls "Never will I be silenced in this
Split," however these doubts are endless if only
The truth slits imagination like an apple.
You are too kind to belong here now among this
Broken day.

* * *

A collaboration poem with Daniel W.K. Lee.


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