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POETRY
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| Tian Qiao / Sky Bridge | |
| -- Taipei & Los Angeles | |
| Russell Leong | |
|
POETRY
|
|
|
|
| Tian Qiao / Sky Bridge | |
| -- Taipei & Los Angeles | |
| Russell Leong | |
Here I am standing at the edge
of the dark lashes under your eyes
in that zone that misses radar altogether.
Jagged fragrance, jagged finger
once-upon-a-time jagged
Chinese lover, cook, masseur
good at massages, at pouring the right amount
of cold-pressed olive oil between your thighs
kneading your body and at once
needing it obsessively.
Pointing at a world that now scans me ironically
crystal and shadow compete
for alignment or enlightenment--
here, a spot of dust, there, a bit of glass
a line of light intersects a shadow slowly.
Here I am standing
at the bottom of the sky bridge
back to back with you in Hong Kong,
Tokyo, Manila, L.A.
On the verge of a tropical sweat
of a relationship that is no longer
a familiar relation
all points of the cheap compass I bought in Taipei
magnetize my longing and your leaving
opposing directions
as you walk away.
A thousand cars a minute
pass under the concrete sky bridge
mute steel bodies threaten to metabolize me
I climb the first steps anyway.
Two monks in ochre cloth
stand on either side of the bridge
one monk has a bowl, and so does the other
one is real and the other is fake
or both are real or both are fake
I genuflect to the first, and when
I reach the other side
nod to the other
I drop one coin in each bowl adding
a clink or two to my claustrophobic karma.
Jagged fragrance, jagged finger
point at the world that denies me
but another feeling arises from nowhere
even more subtle than smell, or sex, or perfume
chromatic eyes of yellow, red, and blue
flags mark a zone that ignore radar altogether.
I've crossed the sky bridge, loved and left
paid homage to monks real and unreal
dodged loose cars, tight women, soft men
and seductive shadows
left all familiar relations to the familiar-
Now I am in a line of sight barely
touching the jagged edge of the Heart
Heart as body
Heart as sutra
Heart that roams freely
as empty as some sound
bouncing around in a brass bowl.
