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Author Archives: perfectsublimemasters
Elegy for Matthew Wong
So this is it. At dawn, you count the sheep on your ceiling and at dusk, you ring for your mother. So much for life. When it is as brittle as cherry tart crushed like unset soil. When only an … Continue reading
Pixie Dust
The suicide rate of Palo Alto’s high schools is about five times the national average. After six months, Mama buys a new bag of rice—weighing down her shoulders on the way home. At once, she spills it all out on … Continue reading
Twenty Inches Above the Carpet Near Bare Toes*
The ninety-six-year-old American theoretical physicist and mathematician, a Fellow of the Royal Society, a physicist known for his work in quantum electrodynamics, solid-state physics, and astronomy, lay flat on a fully reclined Eames chair in the living room, reading the … Continue reading
Radio to Me
Nine months insignificant gray matter defines the canyon between us. My language waits to be named to unload a double barrel chamber packed with muted vowels until we fire. Finger Finger I think of the rings around your bones how … Continue reading
Hush
I wait inside your anatomy. Sealed hemmed ridged fetus. My mouth lips tongue unborn we share the same host. Separate from you I am hard to feel stray split hairs halving your spine. I wait under a yellow tree for … Continue reading
Moss
It’s like sitting beneath a tree maple oak redwood magnolia. How the small of your back sets into impressed strength alligator trunk spine. You trust in me because you trust yourself this moment will not go anywhere. Under a sea … Continue reading
1976
In quiet acceleration you drove. Left behind sprinklers Kool-Aid bare feet racing to sirens mating cats in the alley. You left a house filled with curtains wooden spoons your name. You were dark mother always squinting something awful through your … Continue reading
When You Kiss Me
When you kiss me you get all of me, the face, the mouth, the fingers. You get the years of being broken by love. The irreconcilable ache of this body, alone, the unshackled heave of its engineering, the low notes … Continue reading
Middle Night
No joy in knowing 3:20 in the morning. Ask the bus driver saddled with third shift; she’ll tell you. The derelict loneliness, the empty seats, the ones and twos who mumble to the themselves indecipherably, possibly, she fears, how to … Continue reading
Thumbing Down the Road
If I were asked to design a crest symbolizing my adolescent years, I’d be tempted to include an outstretched arm and raised thumb as a central feature, though the thumbs-up gesture might delude people into thinking I was a happy, … Continue reading
taxonomy
1. i draw a prayer from my gut & skip it like a stone among tardy stars who missed the bus en route to the sunrise. i whisper at these car windowpanes & the moon looming over the horizon like … Continue reading
The Merchants Shout from the Medinas
Photo, p. 149, from Anarchy, Protest & Rebellion: And the Counterculture that Changed America by Fred W. McDarrah Tenements along Orchard Street, December 2, 1963 Smoke in the air settles over the Empire State Building. We face north on Orchard Street. … Continue reading
The Sun Was a Kissing Cousin in 1959
Photo, p. 151, from Anarchy, Protest & Rebellion: And the Counterculture that Changed America by Fred W. McDarrah A tenement rooftop for cool summer breezes and views of the bridges from Henry Street, August 30, 1959 It can’t be too hot … Continue reading
Heart Psalm
Between plumbing issues and so many dogs I cannot breathe, do you not wonder what will happen next? Is the garage down the alley on fire? Did the great mastiff find its way home? Can the southerly wind bring snow? … Continue reading
Case Study.
i suppose the bones are funny? i suppose you remember the bones. your cat’s little femurs made feast by a fox and my molars sinking in my skull. small. my neck was to the dentist’s lamp as you cried at … Continue reading
Wong Kar-Wai and This World Before the Morning Remembers Its Name
There is always water in my dreams. In the horizon where everything began, is where I could touch your name. Engraved in its boundaries, a tapestry of longing. Distance is an interlude numbered by the supplications of leaves before the mapmaker’s … Continue reading
Chopsticks in Chinese Restaurants
I sat in a small restaurant in the southernmost district of Beijing. There was a food rating on the wall: C. With a fat, yellowed, sad-face emoji. Chinese people parted around me and my luggage as Jennifer, the woman who’d … Continue reading
To the Artist at the End of the World
You squat on a rubbled rock surrounded by bombed-out footprints of an ignorant child with balding wings. An infant lay sleeping at your feet. Eyes wide open—her sable tears, singed red, fill her lash-lidded windows pour down her toasted cheeks. … Continue reading
Wild Violets Grow in the Long Grass
Australian violets flower in the shade; four half-moons crucify indigo hearts. Eased along the fence line scarlet pimpernel ignores the forecast, red as defiance for the poor man’s weathervane. My rabbit tried to get among them, made it to the … Continue reading
In the biofield
arm hands announce sheer light your cantaloupe blonde hair the way vines relax over the necks of grapes George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality and concepts of self. He’s a part-time … Continue reading
Thoughts from the Back of the Lyft
Today is Joni Mitchell’s birthday so the radio host decides to spin “California”. I hum along quietly to show solidarity with the driver —to signal that we are the same and we are different. He has a ponytail that reminds … Continue reading
Roadside Service
One thing people don’t think about ahead of time is how very messy it will be. No way around it. When it happens there’s suddenly one more person alive on planet Earth, yet the inside of the car will look … Continue reading
corn husk beak
slug a tongue from my mouth when I am bone wet with death ash twice a heavy flick just enough to pepper the membrane so that I may speak this spell into the garden of your ear a copper eye under the tongue three squares tree bark salted in the vinegar of unwashed hands … Continue reading
The Search
I’ve walked towards Venus as it sank behind a dark hill. I’ve stepped over the harvest moon shining on a wet dock. I’ve gazed upon the blue-ice gleam of a forehead in an open coffin. And searched for the north … Continue reading
In Silence
A round white moon rises from the whitecaps. A lone mallard rides the waves deeper into dusk. What will happen to the duck, solitary as driftwood, after you turn for home to be alone again? You’ll flick on the lights. … Continue reading
