​
A Palm Tree tells you everything is possible


Tall, thin lip leaves by dozens, bearing coconut


In its waving and green nature


It Says


I be without questioning


My fruit is slow but replenishes


A single meal for a few mouths


Dry, white brown, dying leaves


Never got much sun, barely holding on


Head nodding heavily toward the ground


it does not wave like those on top


but wind moves its crumbling limbs


That resembles life


in slight movements


left and right


Then you realize


the whole tree leans


left and right


It doesn't have much


Style


But it’s innate form


is quite majestic


As Hell.


​

​
As the sun sets


in every minute


There Is a moment


among moments


As we grow & decompose


for as long as


we live


death is born out


of Life


While the living


feed upon


death


A Most Harmonious


Little design


like an old watch


or a master violin


It


Works, maintain, transform


till It


Crumbles


Or ascend


perfection


Don’t you want


a laugh


with cigarettes


to sense all you can


in a manner


of seconds


into eternity


while sipping on


your coffeespoon


Till we die


then give life


again?

Should I Die this moment


It would not make a slightest difference


In the eyes of Archimedean Point


My Acquaintances will eventually or never learn the News


My immediate and distant friends will spend a thought or two


My kinsmen will be upset then have their lunch


Just like the Oak tree Outside my Balcony


Should it vanish, uprooted Overnight


I shall complain then read another play


Life and Death create reality that demands acceptance


The world will continue to live when rid off all Animals & Humanity


The End of the world is but a Romantic Phrase


A Vain Egotistical statement to accentuate illusory self-importance

​

Should I live


Or should I die


Just like Walking into my kitchen after getting out of bed


How strange, under morning light


Everything remained exactly where I left them last night


Even my half-drank tea sitting in my cup next to the sink


I Stop and listen


Moment, moments of Silence


Life will always be, just in different senses


​

​
Hop on in, babe, Beware the New Tarnish


Tell me Where you’d like to Go.


I’ve Got the maps and a tank of Gasoline


And plenty of times for You.


Not unlike you, i’m new to these waters too.


Catching the midnight sun and watching the world flows by.


Sure, I can keep a banter, just don’t pour out your soul, remember to leave some for you.


Can you feed on Booze and Cigarettes alone?


There aren’t no good answers on an empty stomach for us blubbering fools.


I grow patience-less and cruel when I can’t eat for 10 Hours


Please Kindly forgive my sins when you manage the heart to do so


Didn’t I mention the traveler always give Pity to those who Unveil their mantle?


Please stay in the Ride, Knowing there aren’t Second Chances coming from you


It gives me the Hollows that I Can’t drop you where you needed to go.


Goes to prove that I ain’t no Saint when I bit off more than I Could Chew


No good to keep you on since you outta walk on your own.


I Know I’ve been saying otherwise, but that’s just wounded pride & Untamed Ego.


So Long, my wee friends


I’ll Catch you later down the Road.


Last thing first, Remember to Call for a Hitchhike


Maybe you’ll see the headlights Shine on from end of the Night


That I might be able to say again


“Passenger, Goodbye.”

​
Four men holding four dogs on a leash


Walking in slow pace across the school yard


The coffee is bitter and creamy


I remember when I was very young


I asked my cousin, who was in high school


“Why do you drink this thing? It’s bitter!”


I have forgotten his answer, mustn’t be a remarkable one


But that was my first taste of coffee


Bitter, infused with my hatred.


Now before I sleep


I think about the creamy bitter coffee that I will drink tomorrow


And


It brings me joy


Almost the same as a large taffy


Will send the Eight-year-old me to the clouds


I close my eyes and wonder


What tomorrow will bring.


It is curious about the things I used to mock


I don’t know if I have become a hypocrite


Or becoming a man, while losing his child.

​We are all stuck here in this piece of history


You stand behind the counter


I come in and sit down at the pavilion every day


You dream of marvelous wonders in the world that I bring in


I crave a good cup of coffee to calm myself down while listen to the birds


There is no greater truth in my being or yours


No union, Nor love affair, Certainly no friendship


Figments of imagination pumped by wild fantasies


Channeled as fuel to feed the lifelessness of our shared colorless days


You, in your conviction of a story


I, in an endless search for something that extends infinitude


There isn’t anything special


See, that’s a word crafted and infused with artificiality


In sooth, the truth is all too plain


We are but human after all.

​
Temptation lives in the heart


To Want; To Please; To Squander


Pokes the eye and Plagues the imagination


Seize the mind to Stare


And


Squeeze out nobler Dispositions


Takes men for women,


Women for meat.


Creeps in with long Patience


Nudge every waking object 


Into


Walking Pleasures


Command men to beasts,


Reason to a whore.


As Storming Winds puffing


Wheezing


An ever so old tale


To Dwindle


Our twinkling, scolding soul.


A constant regret


That led to sunny prayers


Ever so frail is a man.


Yet by a sleep so dies


His Studious Convictions


Have faith, ye gods


Or ye godless gods so faithless win'ed.



 

​
I stand in exile


Some nowhere island hoarding plenty people


It rains a lot and still they work


No obvious ambition


And everybody


Is so eager to relax.


They just drink, dance, smoke and laugh


But meek enough to bow down to the money machine


They appear god-ish but


Nobody seeks


Study, work, fuck, marry, raise kids


Without much survival pressure


Never in my life did I dream of here


Yet here I am entrapped and footloose


See they emphasis a different type of life


Resemblance of soul but truly living as ants


Yesterday I asked a cab driver


“In an ideal world, what would you do?”


“A mechanic, yeah? Fix cars, more money.”


“But if you can be


The king of France


A Fighter pilot


CEO of all corporations


Pope of the catholic church


would you still be a car mechanic?”


“Oh, then no, yeah?”


“What would you be then?”


There was only silence


And I mourned for another wasted soul


“Make you think, yeah?” he says


Precisely, since you flushed it


Right down the toilet.

The Slower it gets


  The More Flavor one finds


    In the Minute Passing


      One learns the treasure of Time


And the weight of Life


  Incessant Marching Drum in Undertow


    But live to breathe, eat, talk


      And taste the differences of Air


We all Live and We all Die


  Find tenderness and Love in company


    Devotion and Honor in the works


      Abide and Follow None Else But Truth.


​

Into the night I rode


A moderate good distance


My royal horse turns and coughs


Left me some walking


Singing familiar tunes


I pause every few steps for some breathing


How many New Years should I endure


And unwelcome thoughts bound I to jest


A dozen good strangers will do


Yet millions so unneeded


"To Heaven, sir? And Hell too. For it's the same place, you see."


Well, my sweets


Still distance too great


And let's walk a little


​Shall we?

​
​I woke up knowing the burden of great weight, brought


by the sins of this world


A great ether that dance by itself, emanates


infinitely into the belly of galaxies


Waves descend, crushes the tiny intellects, possessed


in the immediate fixated brains of ape


Reading Apes, shooting bullets of love to end themselves, jump


in boyish titillation, ripple the pool of blood


Howl, Howl, overwhelms little whimpers of guilt, arise


triumphant the valiant idol of memory everlasting


Preaching on a mount to the bowing knaves:


Thou shall not know but live in thy charge;


Thou shall place hope;


Thou shall not feel but live in tomorrow;


Thou shall be joyous;


Thou shall obey and never question;


Thou shall abide trust.


And Thus,


made the Sins Of This World


When thou art perpetually not kin but exploitable foe


Crumbling the lowly order of this newly garden, crowns


a deathful chaos to rule in the soon of silence.

​
​Splitting Rain and Populated dreams


I Ride in the Night


For 6 hours straight 


Finishing a journey of 


235 days, Two Hundred And Thirty Five Days


The World is itself again


And I, an elevated baboon, at long last, is itself


Too


The Governing Dynamics


is 

​
in every wind, every chirping bird, every thrusting


bush, every burping frog, every source of light,


and everything and anything at Once


Right Now,


in this 3AM parking lot,


a continuous harmony.


I'm better at picking up and linger in the 


taste


of the smell after fresh rain.


Harmony.


Takes very much and nothing at all to


Emerge.


Simply put,


When The World Sang,


I Listened.

Something I don’t understand


That people can laugh when others are in their most agony


Somehow the pain and suffering is completely unreal to anyone who is not experiencing or never will get a taste of it


They just laugh when they see or hear it


Looks silly, sounds silly, annoyance, why bother, go on with my day, have another cup of coffee


Something I don’t understand


That people can be in their most agony when others are laughing


Somehow the laughter is uniquely a privatized property, belongs only to these god-selected men and women in all times across all eras


They are still laughing and having a swell time when joe here is deep in debt, pursued by the sharks, sold his wife and children, hiding in the slumps and smoking his last cigarette while contemplating about the different measures to commit suicide while some young men and young women are having a dance on the sidewalk


Looks nice, hands clutched, groping each other, kiss on the mouth, hugging and murmuring, slipping in paradise


Something I don’t understand


That they all happened at once when we suppose to love each other and what not


Oh hell, whatever.


Guess I will never understand

​

It is a so-called year of number two thousand and nineteen


Where things lost meanings when bad people abuse their ability to assign meaning


Insincerely, 


A hegemonic monotonous place where people have conquered weather 


and 


Reshaped their natural habitat in unrecognizable forms


​But,


There is always somewhere to rest in a coffee house for you, Mr. 


Presentable Generic Man.


In this coffee house people come in here to drink a type of water 


With a thousand different flavors in 


Containers of different sizes with


A thousand special names


Where bland music tune plays from a box in the place somewhere and


No one listens to it even though it’s there.


The special water they drink in coffee houses are meant to cause certain


Wanted effects in themselves, it


Erase sleep, induce alert, lead focus, 


and 


Call for an autonomous ever-more immersing yet hyper active


Special state of human.


A coffee house


Designated as a gathering place for


Hundreds of people to intoxicate together and


stare into screens, stare into books, mildly discussing whatever blows, or 


Just sipping the special type of water


Ever "connected" yet depleted


Lost in his own maze with souls of me you and her.


The coffee house is for


The furthering of an incomprehensible Spectacle that 


Always fails expectation


Despite all the greatest advertisements and dramatizations.


A coffee house is 


the most real reality.


Just too bad that 


we are inside it. 


Ever feel the air is so tight that there is no use breathing?


Perhaps just don’t breath


And go on,


Have another sip.

​
What are you looking for?


Your heirs have this earth dominated, certainly wielding a sharp sword


Envy, Rage, Panic, Angst, Crime


What are you looking for?


Your prized possessions rush through every heart and every mind, causing endless rows


Unrest, Powerlessness, Second-doubting, Despairing, Blood


What are you looking for?


Your reign benefits no one and not even you, who delights in making pain?


Ignorance, Complains, Inaction, Passivity, Slaves


What are you looking for?


One man relinquish after another, who learns nothing but begs for everything


Death, Death, Death, Death, Again


What are you looking for?


Sensual pursuits is the only thing remains, robbed of freedom


Drunk, Drugged, Diseased, Deranged, Lost


Just what are you looking for?


How can you ever be in peace? How can you ever know peace?


If it’s only you ruling the world, then all is lost


Without a doubt you are smirking, our princely lord


But damn with you and pity to your heart


There isn’t a thing you are looking for


You are the one who is lost.

Even in the wild, the parking lots are full


with patrolmen lurking by, assigning citations to cars


RVs, Trucks, SUVs, Sedans, Convertibles, bikes, baby strollers


hovering by in herds from one marked attraction to the other


“Would you take a picture of us, please?”


“Sure”


Their smiles are on cue, some seem more real and others


are bluntly fake


Then they take back their phone, says thank you,


begin to admire themselves in wilderness


Shuttle buses are enforced to prevent over-parking,


there will be Fifty to Eighty people in line,


waiting, chatting, taking more photos,


and when they get in the bus, they listen attendantly 


to the driver’s words, stare into the windows, and 


stand up


when the driver tells them there’s some deers on path


At dinner,


Families will sit together and watch Football on


the big TV, drinking soda and stuffing pizza slices to their guts.


The children will run around and yell at each other


The adults will sit down with beer bottles and yell at the kids


The cashiers are either fat, bored, slow in words


or bear a heaviness on their faces,


I did find it difficult to describe them in a few words,


until it came to me:
​

The entire place


is one big family.


​

I Am Drowning in a River of Blood


Bloated, Floated, Streaming Down with Rain


My Insides are in Pieces, a Broken Jar made of Clay


Detached, Disfigured, Part by Part laying on the Ground


I Murdered, Deceived, Ridiculed for Joy


I Loved, Cared, Scorned for Pain


Life is not merely a bag of shit, But a Leaky one as well


Crawling through the corpses of my Brethren was I Born


Kill and Bash anyone in my way when I Breath


Till I break down, A Cracked Old Log Caught on Fire


A Dismal, Yellow-Green flame glow upon the path of Decay


Am I to wonder, "Is That all There is"?


Or Am I too Tired, Senseless, Lifeless to Ask?


I Drained my Soul through an Empty hole

​
Remains a Bloodless Fool

​