the leering sun burns off the mist overhead
as anglers sit on smooth boulders on the river's edge
trying to catch fresh water sardines
as bloated darkened war clouds drift northerly
and undecided haze lingers over Beitun
i sit in-between
with noisy little motors buzzing my behind
i don't see the alleged building department letter
o don't create scenarios about who rattled us and why
nor let commandments to have a nice day pester me
when it is my civic duty that is thoroughly questioned
only watered bills of egrets fly passed
nothing an ex-pat can do about sewerage back home
but hold a nose and pray it doesn't float this way
i am a fisherman, too, catching tides of attitudes
of every piece of shit afloat in my crystal stream
with patience to wait for books delivered overseas
and no inclination to spread New York disease
or scratch till raw mosquito bites and fleas
or steamed streamed love-making
without pretending love she's taking
come sit to straddle me on this bench
with sky shaped blue between us two
confusing clouds of shy and proud
where old friends kvetching is not allowed
choosing not where agony rages
flowing Han-words on limber pages
ignoring all that seems outrageous
two fishermen leaving without a fish
i am staying without a fish
looking at the light in June twitching
Christmas flogged by August bitching
should i be reading Faulkner
by June's early sunset
pretending that we never met?
i will always believe i can remember that
i can always forget to
put the tackle back in the box
walk home fish-less from the rocks
still with legs to ride the river
to say 'hello' to egrets with my pen
and dream of the light in August
through a Brooklyn window again
6-1-14
for the bad choices that end your life
but seem like fun while you're doing it
and the choices that you live famously
in a golden cage
listen for the graceful choices
that share your dinner and
one another
i am here waiting by the river
a clown
who squeaked his brakes and sat down
a poet
a revolutionary who sees
dense clouds squashing the river down hears
motors whizzing beyond the banks
i'm a stray dog's tail skirting the ledge
like a periscope view above the river
the river you pissed into
as fame came strolling by
5-29-14
she is glad for having a wasted weekend
the river runs with or without fish
with or without her beside it
and she walks along the banks
at her own pace
stops when she tires
to get a breather
to start walking again
the river runs while she stops to get a breather
it does not wait with her
and does not know it is passing her by
when she is ready to entertain life again
she flows alongside with the stream
until the river runs out of water
i will love her until the river runs dry
even on her wasted weekends
5-25-14
the river runs wild when it rains and pours
when nations collide in the China Sea
flattening tall grass into tatamis along its banks
cascading ramps of rock resting turtles
tossing debris crashing into corners
clouds move north while waters south
trouble gushing at its oily mouth
farmers suffer, scooters inconvenienced
but the squall in the south sea islands
has nothing to do with us
waters cloudy from the rush to judgement
friction from the rubbing brushes
power for electric city
diverted to the stock-holders pockets
benefiting none i see
flushed water passes by wasted
the milky Han overflows
the trickle of trickle-down economy
tick tick ticking time bomb
not going quietly
5-16-14
a bird laughs at the absurdity
then chats with a flyer-by looking for a snack
looks at the river running briskly to the strait
wasted and muddy from a downpour in the mountains
the plum rains have arrived
but the plums must be in the mountains
sour in the closed night markets
rains turn smog into solid clouds
solid rain, not splattered humidity
mountains enshrouded now blanketed
vision, clear, no cataracts at all
pagoda mausoleum clearly points to heaven
Buddha turtles don't bask in sunless skies
egrets don't fly on training missions
a downpour could happen at any moment
rain gear donned by noisy little scooter drivers
rapidly the Han water runs
wish it would slow down
it is only Monday
5-5-14
stop my reading to see your beauty
though i read of gorgeous deserts
imagine a city before it was farmland
mountains before they were smoggy.
dykes protect your riverside property
who's brazen to straighten the river's course?
Taichung in uneven ancient roads
absent of whole city planning
ruling ignoring class pride
straight and wide west side
nothing for commoners to abide by
building that choke
land under department stores
teeming with
indigenous pottery shards
who'll die in the mud that drags us down
the mud that engulfs their homes
in a slide of unapologetic trees
reclaiming the beauty
that can stop my reading
5-2-14
