things i dream of

sitting in a coffeeshop dreaming of a day
the day

living in the days when dreaming of -
might not be so
seemingly
far reaching:

i dream of the day when
korea will stand up and say in one collective voice
"no more will we send our children away. no more will we sell our children for profit."

i dream of the day when
governments, systems, celebrity collectors of other people's other country's children, and money hungry agencies will no longer strong arm parents into giving up their children when all they want to do is raise them...

i dream of the day when
ibyang and their ummas will raise arms side by side without shame without secrets without lies without separations...
throw back their arms and cause seoul ... busan... daegu... every small village in korea... every white family in the west - to see their hearts and for all to say "no more. no more can we do this. no more can we separate"

and for holt and kss and every single agency existent and no longer running to take all the millions that theyve earned off the selling of korea's chidlren - and give these profits to open shelters for single ummas who want to keep their children - who will put the money back into impoverished families who do not WANT to have to give their child up but dont have the income to keep them... to put their greed back into educating the people... for agencies to apologize to us for what it is that they have done... to fall prostrate at the feet of ummas and say "forgive us" ...

i dream of angelina jolie and brad pitt no longer being celebrated on the covers for adopting children - that instead they'll take their millions to help support the countries that they say that they feel so much compassion for... that they will work to enable parents in the 3rd world to be able to keep their children

i dream of the day when people magazine will lambaste madonna for stealing a father's son

i dream of the day when no one will call these dreams - impossible... when one day it will be a reality

i dream of the day when our place of origin will never be foreign for another child turned westernized adult

i dream of the day when... assimilation will cease to be the goal... when korean born western raised men and women - boys and girls will never look in the mirror saying "my skin is such a lie... if only i looked as white as i am inside"

... i dream of the day when single ummas in korea who kept their children - will be given every laurel wreath accolade that they deserve - will be given the support that they are owed... that they and their child will never want... that they and their child can be... can become... all they wish to be... for their neighbors to lift the ceiling - showing sky

i dream of the day when... words like these will be celebrated for the(ir) fulfillment... will be looked back upon as oh so distant past

i dream of the day when the loss that each and every 200.000 plus carries - will be washed away... will be filled with every joy calm and peace that comes with just knowing who it is you look like - where it is you come from

i dream of the day when 200.000 rise up from the sea - onto land - plant feet - and discover the(ir) roots that have been whispering for them all along

i dream of the day when...

children do not have to apologize to adoptive parents for asking questions - when chidlren do not have to say "thank you" to adoptive parents for being "saved" from "the orphanages of korea" ... when the truth of every single orphan and adoptee - umma - when OUR truths can no longer be ignored... that the rising up will be so great... that the volume of our truths will be the thing that causes every man woman and child in korea to set down the objects in their hands - crane necks... join us on the shores... bring us into land... and close the doors for good of agencies...

take our hands

and

reclaim us

take our hands

and say

"never again will we ever let another one of ours be sent away"

- i dream of this day

i dream of this day

this is the day i dream of

and this day

it begins with me

it begins with you

it begins with each one of us

to let go the self

and dare to dream with full passion

... so that this

this thing

this thing that has been done to us

has happened to us

will never

happen to another

to work towards this

to strive towards this

to

dream towards this

dust ...

(photo from last yr - seoul at night)

and flesh it turns to dust
burned down in the flames
ashes

only our souls are worth their weight

particles
seeking
other
particles

we're just a giant mass of
stuff
with 21 grams of
real

and the girl
the boy
the man
the woman

theyre just molecules

and to do
or not

to be
or
not

thats just a dust storm
rising in this
bowl

thats just the chaos of
scientific theories
speculated on by other bits of dust
- dust contemplating its own composition

made from nothing
made from dust
- dust the excess flaking of the skin
- the skin excess bits of flesh
- the flesh thats shaped of excess dust left over from the earth and its departed
filled with light
so easily distracted by other dust-ly shapes
ignoring our own
21 grams of
weight

ashes to ashes
dust lusting for other clumps of dust
to huddle with
to find comfort with

forgetting
that
21
plus
21
makes
42

and 4 plus 2
that makes 6
divide that six by the 2
and youre back to

some kind of

coupled
dusty
trinity

21 grams
and one too many pounds of kilos

dust forgets its one
it
only thing
that matters

and my soul
looks back
to see
what it has gathered
and what it will
shed
as
excess
unimportance

and one day
another
shall be comprised
of my
excess(es)
feeling self important
singular

parts of a day

I.

jesus
god
and the 500 saints
that refuse to get up for breakfast
singing songs in a temple

5 rotten tomatoes
no
9
no...
too many too count
its too early
for me to number things
in my head
but
not too early
to stand with fingerless gloves
drinking coffee
from paper cups
smoking dunhill "light-uhhs"

monday morning
and who wants to go to church
let alone
sunday school class

last night dreaming of chests
smothered in
tattoos
and
suntan
lotion

last night dreaming of
wagging tongues
and smiles

the only way i know
how to tell you bout
how im understanding you
is to tell you bout
how im understanding me

and the anger
it runs deeper than a river
she is both the
weakest
and the
strongest
part of
me

and for this i both
love
and
resent
her

and you wanna talk betrayal?
ive met my judas
and shes kissed my cheek
whispered in my ear
telling me
"i lub you"

and its monday
one day after sunday

and jesus is asleep
and jack kerouac is
"on the road"
and im a
"dharma bohmzha"
and the book cover is cobalt sky blue

orion sings at night
whilst the saints do sleep

bukowski's in his resting place
hughes is dreaming beneath a pile of raisins
festering
and
emily dickinson's
dresses have turned to
ash

i will fall in love with a star
i will fall in love with her dust
maybe i should learn to love
ugly that is beautiful inside
instead of
beautiful that is ugly on the inside

but im lecherous
and cravenous
one time too many

and my inbox is full of spam
promising me things
that i pay fortune tellers to predict

and god
and jesus
and the buddha of this temple
smile on from books and paintings
whilst children
run amuck

and i write you letters
bout absolutely nothing
write you letters about absolutely
everything

and this joy and anger
are biting through the morning air

i should go buy some gloves with fingers
but i like the rag tag
like the rag tag all too well

and i dont want just either or
thats always been
my problem

i want the beautiful that is gorgeous inside
want the star that shines from inside out
want the saints to wake
angels to gather on the beach
call up the sun

and bring tomatoes
back to
ripeness

and give me nights
that wake me
full of

words like these.

how a 시인 is redeemed

* caution to the wary - this is a ramble on... headed no place particular cept where it pauses and concludes -

dont know why... it just is this kind of delight

when words have double meanings and double sounds

some love children

some love animals

me?

i love words

care for them in the most tender insane way
will fight for them
do fight for them

arrange them in my mind the way that florists give thought to flower placement / combinations

one meaning can enhance another

one meaning can - delineate - another

one word when placed beside another has the power to bring out more color from the ones around it - and yet the ones around one word can serve to illuminate that certain choice

its a love unexplainable
a delight
that escapes the confines of a sentence
or a
paragraph

even dictionaries cannot contain the meaning
some invent with what exists
writers write to exceed drab banalities

words can make the hearts of women
swoon
can inspire the ambitions of men
can win back what was lost
make singers worth listening to
and others
worth
ignoring

its not just "love what you do"
its
- love how you do what it is you do

- yeah true - anyone can write anyone can draw anyone can paint cuz everyones an artist
'cept wrong -
"everyone's got creativity" is how it should be written
cuz artist - smith - poet - writer - author - playwright - musician - etc etc etc
- those are the ones who arent just touching on their "creative side" - but striving to master... striving to perfect... striving to strive... and creativity is a tool within all the other skills

and some like to say - youre such a snob
to which i say:
what so elitist about loving?
whats so nose up in the air to fall at the feet of a word well placed? a move well crafted?

just cuz you own paint
doesnt mean you are a painter

just cuz you can spell
"dont make you no writer"

... and theyre gonna lambast blast me for all of this
-cept maybe the sinners who get called "시인" (oh how i delight in the similarities of sounds words and the play of go-between)

and yes yes yes its a well known fact that i have this sometimes way of living that makes others smack their heads
but
i have another way that goes deeper


and it brings this smile to my face to think the phrase in meaning / sound "that bar is full of 시인's" ... say it say it say it - good god that is greatness in the most word nerd of ways

... and you think you know me?
chances are
you know one thing or the other
ignoring combinations

cuz its the spaces inbetween that say the most

words - they are the best and worst of me
alliteration onomatopoeia annunciate
(sometimes slammers have only that and that can be so beautiful in its own without content kinda way
dont get me wrong i cant slam
but only few can slam with great poetry
and i fall prostrate wordless beneath their mics)

and here's a random inbetween

- sometimes i forget that i did not just live
but that i LIVED
in lithuania
that i know how the lights of klaipeda feel
that i can still feel the bitter cold from the baltic sea
that i can taste bambola's pica in my mouth
hear kurpiai jazzing in my head
that the cobblestones of here remind me of the ones along the gatves there
that i have 2 plus years of memory
and with those memories come
... feelings
that could never be framed by words
... only fragments
... and only those who were there ... well i could say one word and theyd know the full novella
like

- kretingos gatve
- maxima
- yellow submarinas
- karklu
- kranai
- the spit
- 12 chairs
- svyturys
- peda
- jocelyn
- 4th floor
- 11th floor
- degtine and the sky

... and in those words are hours.... days... months... years

and in those words
are people

and this

this

this is why i love words
the way that some love
loving

cuz loving words
is loving people
loving words
is loving memory
loving words
is loving music
loving words
is loving every single goddamned good/bad moment
loving words
(for me)

it is to live

and yes

i am a 시인 who does sin
but i am also a
"시인"
redeemed
by
words

love note to 한국

(photo from last yr)

i love her back streets
the way she juts
up and down
rises
falling
with
and/or
without
me

i love her alleyways
her smells
her
vendors
and her
buyers

i love her lines
the way she has been
excavated
dug so deeply into
red line
green line
blue line
go
with caverns still to
explore

i love her exhales
that steam up
from her crevices
crevices
created
by
men
and
women
trying to find her
center

i love
her exclamations
that tremble through the walls

love how shes so tender
so unpredictable
so one day settled
next day wild

love how she pulls and pushes me away
will not let me go
how she is
my beginning
and now my middle
how even so long from her
my body could not forget her

how music falls from her highest places
to her most lonely corners
how
shes the one i could never leave
even when she turned her back

how my blood is of her veins
my body from her limbs

shes my constant joy
my constant geography to discover

i could trace her lines a thousand times
and still only just
begin to know her

raise my fingers to her
swollen
body
bursting in the upper
the place where i am most at calm
in the center of her
chaos

love her ragged edges
how even the ocean cannot conquer her
how other men have tried
but still she has remained
true
to her
chosen

she has not just one
but many

she was made for generations
to be adorned
with their triumphs and their sins

i do not know why it is i love her
she has wronged and betrayed
lied to worse than any lover could
sold me to feed her self-serving flesh
and yet i love her
because she loves me too
calls me by a name forgotten

i love her in the way that lovers cannot stay away
mumbling
"dont know why
just something about
you"

love her in the way
that sleep is torture
and every taste
is to know her

i love her in the way that
i have yet to love a person
love her in the way
that i cannot deny my own heart
when with her

love her in the way that
only those whove loved
can

know

love the city where i was born
love the country from which my dna is traced

love her knowing how crazy she can be

love her because

when mumbling to self

the words repeat

"korea... seoul...
there's just something about
her"

to the shoes upon my feet which i do wear so carelessly yet carefully

waking feeling soft
memories of the sounds of
silk 침아's
making time stand still
making even natives
stop
and
stare
rendering
an alleyway
silent

and we've been everywhere together
my chucks and i

"youve helped me remember something id forgotten"
- (heard that line so many times from so many "hers")
(when now will i be able to forget all that i am
reminded
of?)

and they're rotting
rotting at the seams
weary soles
weary threads
hole driven canvas

you know how i dress
so then why am i so excited about the colours
of this
한복 ?
(the silence that it renders
the time it makes to
stop
will be for the
oddity
and rarity
my hair's too "mussed"
to render that kind of
homespun
beauty)

i keep waking
these past 2 morns
to the softest inner feeling
like everything
is just
around the corner
that im about to
'round

stare down at the ground
to my worn out weary
much beloved
scuffed to the soles
1950s cons
chucks

think of all the places that we've been together
how memory wears down rubber
and dirt
sleet
snow
mud
earth
can eat through canvas
and time
can wear
not just flesh
but
sailor's cloth
so thin

look up
take a photo
think of morning
recall the sound of
silk

and say to self

"ahhh now
this
this here now
is

love"

morning lovesongs of want

coffee comes slowly
churning out the veins
spluttering in the lungs
whilst smoke drifts in

and the preacher man
he's behind his sunday aye-em
pulpit
whilst all the sober people bow their heads
dreaming of coffee
and
praying for the
smokers

morning is the end of night
and i have one too many tune-less songs to sing

drained my well textured mug of its deep mocha black brown
beans from guatemala
tobacco approved by HRM ERHII
"designed in london made in korea"

me
designed in america made in korea
approved by holt
jeans from someplace obscene in that urban hipster kinda way

"to be so satisfied
and yet so full of...
anger
and
confusion"

"to remember why it is you came here"

"to remember
remember
remember"

fuck remembering
id like a mug of fermentation
and forget everything for a few more nights

"to be the one who captures your own loneliness and fill it"

fuck me having to fill my own anything
i want
a houseload of servants
a harem
and a bar that never runs dry
to fill whatever
whenever
i just
think it

and i want
a
house

and the income to own one

but the morning
is full
of sounds

su-yoon washing out last night's container of rice
water makes so many sounds

i want to be thigh high in snow
watching the moon rise in the alps
when everything is so beautiful
(full of beauty
beauty that is full)
that kind of fullness of beauty that leaves you so
aware of just how
in tune and
singular
you
are

i want a cat
that i never have to take care of
that never sheds
that only purrs
and places its paw upon my chest
and tells me that i am
perfect
without a chesire grin

morning is full of shuffling
of bags packed
ready to flip out the door
time away that i dont want
but
need

to re-order
re-pack
my chaotic
insane
fragmented
jump from thought to thought
word to word
random tangent
somehow all strung together
good god-damned lovely
hectic
ways

and return to
the way that morning is...

one bird singing
another in response

no sounds of traffic in a 12 million person city

hearing this

i cant help but think

having filled myself with guatemalan beans and nicotine

sitting behind my own literary litany of pulpit-ing

preaching to no one but myself

the shuffling
the 270 sounds of water
the 2 birds in conversation

and just for a moment

i am in want of

nothing

with 15 minutes to spare

and a love for my own word truncated : "insatiabilities"

remembering reminding

(on the way from nakpoong-ri)


oh the ocean will not hold me
and the rivers cannot bend
everything is brighter
darker
than the days before arriving

and in the midst of chaos
is a comfort of
familiarity
is the comfort of
the past

and i can no longer run from
what ive been running towards

and the world
i cant find the way to pause it
cant find the way to stop it
so then
how (do) i move in
through
and
with
it?

oh the waves theyre not crashing in my dreams
as they have for 30 something years

and these 3 decades plus of living
arent like id imagined at the age of
12

confusion laps up onto more
and its not about you
not about her
but about
what it is i came here for

though some day i find negligent acts of avoidance
to be the only way to hit this pause
though all that does is make it all spin faster

and i dont know if i should
or
should not

to move from letting go to
frantic holding on
to utter indifference

i am the ocean
that cannot contain
my own
moon pull
my own
gravity

and the waves
though they will wash
crash
over

they will not
cannot drown
- this much ive dreamt before
this much i am assured of

and beautiful is beautiful
but crazy is too much
and i cant play the push and pull away
even though ive been pawning in this for one too many years
even though i always throw in my cards

oh its a go stop
stop go
flip switch
quick trip turn around
of becoming

and eventually
the rose petals
will stop swirling

it is the settling
that i am waiting for

it is the sea to calm
the rose petals to lie upon the earth
the crazy beautiful chaos to turn to
deep sigh peace release

it is
to find the middle ground
and not all these everyday extremes

i dream now
of a sea with waves
that do not crash up onto the highways
but instead
lap upon the coastline
with a sky brighter blue than i will ever show you

this
this
this
is what i came for

to look into the mirror
and see the sea has
calmed

II.

let fade what must
let shine what will
let shimmer what can
let die what needs
let live what does
let be what is
let go what does
let let what lets

i cannot be the one
to make the sadness go away
cannot be the one
to bear the brunt of self destructive hell bent intents
only to be called names

let rise what cannot stay
let stay what grows
let grow what yearns
let yearn what hopes
let hope what remains
let remain what moves
let move what rises

one year later and now i understand her meaning
one year later and now i understand my own mis-understanding
one year later and two things once just dreams are now bittersweet known realities
one year later and now i know
one year later and now i wonder if i still wish to know

let all be does is all the may might must can could should would

be.

(two) tin cans

its like that game
only without the string
so everything's just hollow noise
reverberating back into our faces
and the rope thats knotted at my stomach
wont fix the lines
of
understanding

some wasteland of
tinned sentences
canned for a later season
preserved for
preservation?

everything is
frayed at the ends
jeans
shirts
hair
even my chucks are frayed

i cannot heal her whisper
saline bleeds this city dry
saline digs paths into her eyes

i will be her first wrinkle

we're repeating words into these tin cans
making earthworms moan
into the earth
at our vain repetitions
like if we say the same thing enough
suddenly there'll be
translation

like if we keep saying the same three sentences
that the string will re-appear

like if we keep saying the same words in a different order
that one of us will find the meaning

so we stand
silently
saline
tin can in hand
tin can to mouths
not saying anything
just making
noise

this re-beginning
is every day out of body
every day new feeling
every day same sentences
every day picking up of cans
holding them to ears
collecting all her

water
that might drain her body

dry