perhaps i'll have to move on
keep travelling before i settle down
move around before
i can't move no more
in thunder from the south
rumbling low and loud
two days without crescendo
suggesting to me
i'd better flee
hodgepodge of gray blue skies
whisked northerly awaiting
clear skies following the dappled sun
and the thunder only
a ballast factory
churning boulders into pebbly rocks
like a pie baking
soon ready to be boxed
or is the hint of moving on
caused by
dangerous familiarity
sickening inevitability
out of desire to freshen the seat
by finding another place
without burning houses
or slamming doors behind
by not answering when someone knocks
and asks
"who's home?"
who asks
the silhouette of the man across the Han from me
"hello, following me?
i must be going."
if the thunder continues to roll
and there are too many signs to move on
with hundreds of other places to go
6-17-14
whichever star of God shined upon me
led me to this Han River bench facing east
randomly passed an egret by my eyes
permitting me to ignore motors whizzing by
whatever the whore's name
that brought him down
or the dead Bruno who took revenge
after the buy-out prevision passed
led me as stars had all my life
to sit with you, my love, enjoying a chat
even if every day we can't hold on to
any more than an egret's flight suspended
no coincidence our rendezvous
integral steps of things to do
on the way to seeing
the wash spill in and mingle with the river
the simple angler with rod for a dinner
catching tiny fish, one by one
saved from ever reaching China
as i was saved by you, dear Lord
from bureaucrats everywhere
6-16-14
where the family photos are bound
a Jew is a turtle with home on its back
photos in a knapsack
on a stick of a hobo
wandering in shantytowns
along the tracks of a thousand trains
that don't digress
Taiwanese Lin who remembers her path
couldn't get lost coming home
with a hundred thousand Lins before
mixed with indigenous blood
family registered Japanese
who never had to flee like we
from country to hostile country
i'll return to collect my history
for those who care to see
thankful for showing what once was
children's welfare, pleasure, and me
an empty nest nestled in my brain
which cannot be washed out by the rain
be cast away or stained
6-7-14
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
