Eye Contact and A Smile

When a seat frees up

Would you let a total stranger
Have the seat?

In exchange for a fleeting moment
Of eye contact and a smile

With a pretty girl?

On the train

Maybe in her mind she thinks,

Would he let a total stranger
Have the seat?

In exchange for a fleeting moment
Of eye contact and a smile

With a pretty girl

On the train.

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When I Write

I write when I’m on the train
When Albert Hammond sings and
When glimpses of you appear
In the ghosts of the shadows of others

Just for a moment be close to you
Pretend that I’m still holding you

And perhaps someday
When we’re done chasing our fantasies

Maybe love will bring you back to me.

Capped R8

It was a quiet ride barred
from the constant odd hum the Japanese engine made.

I decided to break the ice and asked him if
the car was nice to drive and he told me it depended on
how I defined nice. Back to silence it was,
the night was still young and our hearts were still hungry.

An R8 whizzed by. We caught up and landed beside. A young boy in a cap.
My traveling companion might have thought, nice car.
I was thinking, where did he get the money from?

We were both young men trying to survive in a world inside our Grab car
and a world outside. Maybe we wished we were in the R8, or maybe not.
Must have been his parent’s car or money. That is far from satisfying for us.

Soon the journey came to an end. I took the lift up,
and he took another trip out.

The night was still young and our hearts were still hungry.

Making Tiles With Scrambled Eggs

the night after our first fight you ran
away. from me and from your abandoned necklace
i saw our love fade away into the break of day,
mirroring the shattered fragments of my

life (and heart) as i knew it. you’re no good. for me.
is all that is left of our love – an echo. or maybe

not so much an echo: at least an echo is a reciprocation;
my calls for your love bears no return.

The Being of Anatomy

False happiness is standing at the top of the building amongst the clouds in your coffee
til your heart floats sweet like the sugar remnants at the bottom of the building.

Emotional emptiness is a space
that physical intimacy, no matter how frequent or close, simply cannot feel.

I can no longer tel the difference between the ground that I step on and the contracts that I sign off on: both are solid but they remain void of meaning and virtue. The rich gets richer and the poor, poorer.

I have folded shapes of crescent and full only to arrive at a poor imitation of you:
Shinji Moon.