Truthfully, I

im spinning....
inside
the fever rush so enchanting now
thick with too much intelligence
progress reports stacked up on high
twice-told means to a means
the pain has spread to the other shore
and isnt this what you really wanted
always wanted
but nobody else accepted the generosity
to act like a black hole where confessions and lies and all other things confirmed or denied
could be buried




Truthfully, II

im sinking
besides,
the miniatures entrust, burgeoning wiles
wired with too many fortifications
a relapse is bound to occur
fairly tailored confidences,
their remains have spilled across the kitchen floor
but this isnt what you counted on
never counted on
that someone else could replicate the elation
to revive the soul above where ordinances and spies and all other things broken apart like flour
would be buried ever after


--yiqi 26 june 09 6:56 pm

Werewolves were fun & thirsty for you
I dose the pies,
and the package sparks with landing gear
Oh, my raptor, so debonair

Squeeze the pints,
squeeze Mandy the tall clown
I squeeze your microwave blue & proud, you play Halo
so rattled that it shows
those Oreos you made your kitchen in shambles
and my caddy played a prank on you alone
with egg whites on the counter top spreading out
here we go, and I slept

Oreos baking with pears on a golden dome,
I'll seem hungry add to this some vintage rum,
You'll cut the price and I'll feel so priceless,
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set.

Slow my heart down to bass lines of bayous
our meek riot focused in debt too, show me your spies
vests strapped for about a mile
cocked Oreos delight nibble on my handle
and my caddy played a prank on you alone
with apple seeds on the counter spreading out
make the toast, and I slept

Oreos baking with pears on a golden dome,
I'll seem hungry add to this some vintage rum,
You'll cut the price and I'll feel so priceless,
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set
Oreos fill me--Can't do it on my own
Missed much in a year, smell my candle
Prone to be late, wheels shaking round so blessed
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set

I fought mired and shady, scraping off the glue from your old crown
My taste in truth is waning, then I felt you on the downpour of doubt, and I slept

Oreos filling--without you I'm not whole
I cheat death's door for a truce that won't be done
Business in my shed, I got lost on the street
Icy to the touch, you drew out your sheath
Carry me all alone, I will give you a home
I'll fix you so what else do you wanna know
I knocked out your caddy so no more of his lame tricks
It's a truffle party, baby, I'll bring the chess set
oh, oh, oh, oh

Werewolves were fun & thirsty for you.


--yiqi 9 june 09 9:16 pm

To seize without alighting
the Other man's livelihood
is the blueprint of the innocents

It's just a pity,
a real low
down murky shame
that misinformed Lions fall
to cackling hyenas,
and gazelles are ensnared
not for food
but b/c of location

Location, location
Can they find me in this rubble
Do they hear my pleading

Pride of Lions
don't stop believing
don't stop the music
the sound of heavy marching
is chocolate to my senses
water to my desert

Take it
Take it all
I never wanted to live here anyway.

--yiqi Memorial Day 2009 1:17 pm

the files and venerations
of an eager beagle
prepped to lurch
screened to search
for the tattered doll
missing in character assassination
with a belly for a wishing well
he dreams a federation
for my illness

the toast always hits
the ground
jammy-side up

he awakens
rubs his eyes
the nightmare mile long
behind him
though, he still
waits for a chance to prove
he's worthy

get a clue,
get a broom,
be alarmed
be w/o a contingency room.

--yiqi 11 may 09 11:04 AM

Try It

So very blind in your beliefs
Idealizing American Dreams
Focused upon those golden seeds
so much that you just cannot see

Oh, sighing "hard work does not pay"
You blame yourself, "I'm so below the grade"
So you go back to the beginning
Rewriting all the lines for some better story

Try, it, oh, try, it
Try and visualize a different way of living
Try, it, hey, hey
Not all has to have the spouse, the kids, and a mansion.

You've got your Faith when you are down
And if you don't, you're stuck in doubt
But with best friends you'll come around
To understand that life is about
using the hand you're given
Not everyone must cross the same goal line
So when you feel luck has dried out
Remember having everything is not for everybody

Try, it, oh, try, it
Try and visualize a different way of thinking
Try, it, hey, hey
Not all has to want the spouse, the kids, the glory.

Perhaps now you just can't believe
That traditional scenes are not the only things
To have with your time on earth
Being famous, giving birth
Aren't for all human beings
So when you fail
At anything
And you're thinking that you
can't do any better
Hold on a second 'cause
You don't need to want like everyone else.

--yiqi Cinco de Mayo 2009 6:43 pm





The above quasi-parody (of this song) was inspired by a conversation I had with a good friend. In light of the economic state of the nation and other factors, a significant amount of chaos has filled her life in recent months. Not knowing where one will live, work, or call home is nothing new for a lot of people. For my friend, a nomad at heart, it has become as familiar as the creases in her favorite pair of jeans.

Her day job has required her to cross time-zones at the drop of a stencil, going from hemisphere to hemisphere more times in the last year than I have been globe-trotting in my entire twenty-eight years of existence. The physical and mental fatigue that has been building as a result of this travel has left my friend on the lower end of life's highs and lows. Nevermind when your puppy gets hit by a car or when your favorite TV show gets canceled and will not be on DVD any time soon, physiological exhaustion pulls the spirit into depths of despair and despondency with greater efficacy than even that which hurts more.

Being on the move, having the stamina to move around geographically and intellectually has taken a toll on her. In conversations over the weeks, I threw out the images of an anchor, a captain, a lighthouse, and a boat. I emphasized the image of the "anchor," as something that she can always go back to...something or someone that will always be there. No matter how crazy life gets, the anchor will be there.

Today, she remarked, "somewhere along the line, I forgot I was an artist--I forgot to engage it. I think that's my anchor. It has to be, because I have to take the anchor with me wherever I go. I'm reading this book about Elizabethan pirates and their boats sank all the time. Stable boat = permanence, but maybe my "stability" lies in the anchor. You can anchor anywhere with any boat".

I expanded upon her comment.

Most people spend their lives getting the anchor, the boat, and learning how to be an adequate captain to a first mate. Even when they realize they can't have it all, they don't realize that the boat can be interchangeable. The boat is school, work, community activities, etc; it is assumed to be the most stable, the first priority, and should be the most long-lasting. First mates can come and go, captains can come and go, but a boat is forever.

But no--a boat is not forever, not necessarily and not for everyone.

The components of the American dream, the conventional aspirations, doesn't have to be for everyone.

My question has always been...well, why couldn't these people just realize it? But life wouldn't be as exciting, would it? if everyone walked around knowing the value, functionality or the quirks of the cards they are dealt?

American values, American traditions promote the desire to be someone great, to do something amazing, and even if you aren't rich, you can leave behind a legacy and change the world. Marrying, having children, traveling, and so on and so forth...you list enough items and you get the spectrum of needs to conventions to luxuries.

So the anchor is actually not whatever floats your boat, but rather whatever keeps you from capsizing. Having a good anchor and being a self-sufficient captain...is crucial. Yes, a first mate would help, a lighthouse would too, but if you can't have both, you could have one. If you have neither first mate nor lighthouse, you'd need a line up of destinations and a stable boat. If you have no particular destination in mind, your boat could be the foundation of your existence, or an implement, a tool.

Living and surviving are about not capsizing in the water or getting swept into sea if you're still on dry land. Society teaches us that we should want it all, and why not, right? But if we can't have it all, we would make do, right? We'd learn how to get on with what we do and do not have. Some people realize this before they're old enough to enjoy lower auto insurance rates. For others, though, it's a lifelong lesson.

The sooner you realize the following, the mission of not capsizing becomes less burdensome:

A. You can't necessarily have it all (nor must you want it all).
B. Whichever pieces you have is as much about where you are (in life) as it is what kind of captain you are.
C. Chance, fate, happenstance, etc. contribute
D. Identify your anchor and know what kind of captain you are.
E. You don't have to be a different kind of captain in order to sail the high seas. If you want to be and work at it, and find positive results, then great. If not, perhaps you need to find another boat (or distribute the weight across your boat in a more efficient manner), a better anchor, or a lighthouse.



I am my friend's lighthouse. She is my anchor. My other good friend is the beach. I hopscotch between water and land. I don't want to "go anywhere," so i don't need a "boat." Actually, I do have a boat, but it's on land. It's like a museum piece, an artifact of a past life.

I ask you, who or what is your anchor? Do you have a lighthouse? What kind of boat do you have?

Unseen forces, your dogs, your favorite sports teams, your grandparents....there is no right or wrong answer.

Prove it to me, prove it to me, baby

Strange voice on the phone
Even though I'm in a dead zone ~ it goes through
I smell a premonition
Quit doubting and let us play ball ~ oh yeah
No blows, no holds
So make me throw
Relent, you show
Trace my footing, would ya
You'll spill, or you'll choke
Own all the tricks of the trade for you, baby
Save one for me

All I need is proof
count after me, baby
All I need is proof
You're shaping up nicely
All I need is proof
Now, baby don't shoot high
You swore you wouldn't try
I'm gonna win you, right
All I need is proof.

--yiqi 23 April 09 5:52 pm

Today, I give
you a shimmering dream
of warrior stories
barreling after a misplaced outcome

Should succeed,
were I to give
her hands of amethyst composure
a cheek upon
the kiss
my Kate of ever-after

Today, I relive
for you a simmering reaction
to a question once posed
To the man with war paint
streaked across his countenance
Would the flora and fauna dwindle
from whispers to streams,
Permit me today
to give the abundance
of my apology

You, the luminescent
confection of my destiny
You, evolving.

--yiqi 19 april 09 2:02 pm

Ever since I started using gmail, Facebook, and created a blog, I have used my LJ primarily as a depot for poems. But, today, I felt like taking things back a bit.

I sit here at my desk, my left leg crossed over my right knee. Feet will be numb and tingly soon, if I don't uncross them. If you dig into the archives here, you'll find a spectrum of topics and emotions. I don't experience many of those emotions so intensely and for such a long duration of time anymore, which is a sign of improvement. At the same time, though, my desire to write about other topics has waned.

I catapult these words onto and via the interweb...to be found by people who never knew I existed.

She was as big as the towel,
crawling around my feet
after I took a dive
off balance by my own
sweat,
rivulets of the past
eighteen minutes
where i kept missing
the rim of light,
of respect
of domination

and the exertion peaked
I came down on my knees
good thing

she was as big as the towel,
pawing around my ankles
after I took a hit
soaked in my face
on the hard wood glaze
a monster, monster
miscalculation at the buzzer.


--yiqi 20 march 09 12:37 PM

he caught her eye with a basket
starched and prepped for an emergency
thoroughbreds on the course of
a knee-length flirt
a rusting transistor radio forfeits
the regional title
for a ride in a blimp

it was made of benign sojourners
who only wanted a moment of his focused,
disbelieving reticence

to where her skirt frayed
and he walked with last year's roll-over minutes
collected for a gilded page of fame
he'd set her at ease
opposite the pile of laffy taffy,
to soak in a vat of orange fanta
skimming the crests of retired relief.

-yiqi 12 feb 09 11:51pm

i saw the man with
ramen hair
his epidermis,
a mixed allocation
of an era gone by
trudging through a present
precarious

we are greeted
by a scrapbook of
lights and stages,
bits of paper
clippings and colors
youth, heights of domination
quickly fold in

steadily

loved ones scant
dove out of the picture
his own reflection abandons
a longer stretch of road
for one studded with
a buckle
under pressure

the man with
ramen hair quivers
for just a moment
surrendering
to greater call of duty.

--yiqi 19 jan 09 8:29 PM

he bends the railways backwards
a multitude of ventures
pried open at the scene
where Brother Joseph forgets why
he was in the pantry
then why
he was in the library
balancing the books
purifying the numbers
the in-town keeper
slaps him silly for denying
there could be a place for him
to bend railways backwards
forgetting at the venture
a multitude of scenes
where prying open the pantry
was then why
the library books
keep the purifying in-town
silly there could be a slap
denying a place
for him to be (un)seen.

--yiqi 15 jan 09 8:41 AM

I was looking for a piece of prose I wrote in college and found these poems. I had completely forgotten I wrote them.




Shallow voices stir into utterances of aftershave
the towel is crunchy
your wok is hanging above my statue
Yes...the golden little man
i won for not telling a single facet
of your fears
of sleeping w/o affirmation of care given to
daughters of Micronesia
It wasnt always the dead bolts
no no no
i know b/c i welded her chains
scented them with amaretto

i dont have gold
no food
just a mind that wont stop,
stuck on endless prongs
weightless reactions

if you touch me
w/o warning
the fox spirit will eat me

if i wake after your
heart folds in twain
wait for me to
come to my fences
and swallow my fears whole.

--cc 1 feb 03 1:59 am



the sky hasnt landed
on me
cerebrus hasnt
flicked its 3 heads
My hands & feet are
still where they should be
sled still zips over
packed snow
but a cushion would help
immensely
the sky will not
land on me
but in the bleak
of mid-morning
couldnt you flip
my frown right side down?

--cc 3 dec 02 8:34 pm



Fly By

cry out at dawn
this shrew cannot be uncaged
enchantress of venice
remains a julie-
idiot
on the 12th night
of this season
irreplaceable
incompatible
warning lights
should blink
sixty seconds left of
this marriage btwn
the mortality
of wine
and the morbidity of grace.

--cc 18 dec 02 5:46 pm


This one has a whole new interpretation now.

i missed the train completely
the one departed 7 years ago
bedside manners now strange
and confusing
under-handed fondling
perverse, overrated
night time crawls dripping
a tail of mighty battles at sea
shiver your blunders
i stepped into the
revolving door
forgot to step out
too late for the guest list
too childish for the wine
tasting the cup of kiss
no waiter to pull me in
no host to take my order
no bother
i'll spin myself
out to the streetcorner.

--cc 21 dec 02 8:02 pm

A bit of prose that came to me out of nowhere a couple days ago while I was getting caffeinated.




The skin from the top third of her index finger fizzled off out of protest or possibly resentment. Once the sands from the top half of the hourglass had relocated to the bottom, she would no longer be able to stop the transformation. The sloughing off of skin was supposed to begin at her shoulders, the guidelines said as much. But no, it was the top third of her left index finger which flaked off first like layers of brittle baklava. The transformation would progress no further. A quarter-inch was all there would be as the harvest of 6 weeks of circulatory purification and muscular relaxation. She was no amused. She was not pleased. She wanted her 6 weeks back. As she examined her finger, she began to register the pain. Icy hot oscillating between an interplay of concentrated inflammation and pulsing tenderness. There was, however, no blood. When her eyes became accustomed to the state of her left index finger, she noticed the blood vessels. They were beating, faintly, imperceptibly, but nonetheless beating.

He sees a sky studded
w/ sinews of somber rays of complaints
knelt down at the crossbow
of witching hour
he delays the seconds
elapsing
impropriety weighs
for no one is stopping
he demands a painted victory
sodden to the aftershock
amber pools into a loser's mouth.

imagine, if you will,
your cavities on fire

--yiqi 17 dec 08 10:44AM

Wipe that sin off your palace gate. Retreat into a greener property value, where the markings of betrayal are tinted w/ buckled esteem. For a winter gone dry to the bones of my confession. And you follow the trumpet player out of the village to set up shop on the wetlands of a demure pantry. Stocked w/ all your favorite titillation and brimming w/ cinnamon spice pumpkin seeds. I cradle you down beneath where the cherubs do not feel remorse about their perversity. Misdirection begins to smell like the drawings of win-less, violin strings. I bring forth the best in your desperation. So wipe that sin off your century.

-yiqi 7 dec 08 6PM

Recede w/ your alluring glow
A prism of eventualities
Scrawling over a beach-front bench.
I deny the captors
their glory
I deride their ever-tallying
remarks.
This time w/ your echoes
burning bright
I will stand against the fortress
you brew in the dark.
And by then, all of your broiled majesties
will condone a splintering,
irreverent heart,
such is the one lodged
in this beach-front park.
Proceed, the tender traps
are the cloudless confined
w/ your enduring tropes
A chasm of perpetuality fawning
over a freedom-falling star.
I deny the captors' vengeance
I deny they are my splintered heart
Bellowing below deck
brutality undermines every start.

--yiqi 25 nov 08 5:37pm

the miles of Plutarch go strutting
along vacated cafe patios,
resigned to bleak
asphyxiation
in an underwater carousel

to the drummers' refusal

that

she guards my gates
anonymous
w/ packaged hooks
for grasping
names & dates
where i achieve

that

spacious
heroic story

for the yards passed forty
the watcher in black-and-white
clinging to a muted whistle
as the miles of Plutarch go strutting
down the white lines
before her feet

i finagle a victory,
anonymous
w/ plastic looks
for pretending.

--yiqi 7 nov 08 8:46 AM

Inspired by seeing cops handcuff someone on the highway.



Grip me
the most amenable
while inhaling the scent
of a coffee
woman,
Woman,
you corner me into a squad car
Just moments before
I was suspended
beneath your black-light glow
unrevised
free to speak my mind
and grind into metallurgical
sparks,
in tandem w/ faked
parked cars

You double the alimony
I pickle in spare parts.

--yiqi 25 oct 08 9:01pm

screened
on lacquered brevity
a tableau of sable
skirmishes
with a harpoon honed
for wailing

she wanders up the coast
while milking
the secrets she fought for a day
when sandstone threatens
to repudiate
a man's loosely packed
claims to her faith

and for a time the engine rises
to that cold november sky
and the sands of the man's ashes
crumble along the dewy pine

so the man screamed
on trying whistles
his calf muscles singeing
commercials
on a marooned cable
a deserted second
chance defeat.

--yiqi 22 oct 08 8:20 AM