a train of seven white butterflies

there goes a train of

seven white butterflies

pairs entwining tying ribbons

round milky sun-streaked skies

into nose-dives spiraling

around a wild shrub

pleasantly surprised at tiny yellow florets 

which with antennae rub

on excursion sightseeing

feeling spring terrain

without a thought or care

in their primitive brain

from ether they do come

hidden in the soil

for pollen and for nectar

before the Taiwan boil

an adolescent egret lands

skims a Han River shore

while anarchistic beetles

create from chaos more 

not a person with white terror 

stops for nature's play

they would rather wait in lines

of cars this holiday

2-28-15

  

chew on this

old men need not eat that much
too much food only makes us sick
back in the day when food was scarce
the lion's share was given to the youth
as old men's lives withered away
completely spent
with heaven closing in
the bowl was passed
not wasted on the wasting away

old men do not need a tooth
pearly white for the ladies
shiny clean hygiene 
or fresh minty breath
with nothing left that needs chewing
no romance ahead that needs doing
useless carbohydrates
red protein meat
slimy clams of erectile zinc

old men avoid the tender side of mouths
tonguing the mush into other cheeks
we favor the side that causes less pain
until the better side breaks down, too
overworked
what are we to do?
at the end of days
in old men's nights
there are two broken sides 

let youth ignorant of dentists be wise
do every action with big trusty smiles
speak every dumbfounded word aloud
every wad of bubblegum proud
every jaw-breaker and beetle nut 
let old men waste not your food
with precious little time 
we save our spit for washing down pills
that solidify our orchestrated movement

2-11-15

we did it our way in Siem Reap

we did it our way in Siem Reap
look how happy we were!
cannot ruin it with complaints
so what that the guide knew no English?
so what that i could not grasp the Mandarin?
only one concession i needed:
a tuk-tuk to the night market
without a tisk
to the happy balcony at once
we
like two flickering ivory moths 
singling out nothing, blaming no one
two Tin-Tin's along lumpy Cambodian roads 
red dust flying in our adventurous faces
doing it our way
choosing the place, the date, the return...
next time colonial British facades in Rangoon 
excite me more ancient Khmer tombs
all irrelevant in the sunshine of our noon
in killing fields void of flowering scents
our love still in bloom

(happy valentine's day)

2-10-15