I wanted to find a miracle on the street
by making brave eye contact
and painting people with words.
I wanted to stare out train windows
and count foreign bills in my wallet,
to understand the neon signs,
and make small talk with strangers.
But I kept forgetting why
I was staring at my textbook;
I played instead with my lighter
and made small words on the Internet.
I spent many trees on bulleted lists
and game plans painted with X's and O's.
I thought, if that place can know me,
then I can call it home.
But I never bought a ticket
with money I never saved.
Words didn't mean anything,
since I wasted them on myself.
You were a sprig of rosemary
added to an old recipe
and it took me 365 days
to realize my mistake.
There is a place where I admit
vanity and loneliness.
I am ordinary
when I look in the mirror
but words make me
when I put them together the right way.
Before I sleep,
I dream awake
of big things I will do
The world is only small
Her face was nightmarish;
stretched across two miles of cheekbone.
It fell away from a drastic and narrow nose
to ears pinched to her head.
Her vague eyes
apologized for the rest of her face,
looking away from everyone
and at nothing in particular.
Six feet of black apron
wrapped twice around Skinny;
watching her make waffles
was like watching an afflicted fairy
and I almost wanted to tell her nevermind.
I didn't want waffles after all.
Each detail is a part of someone else's life.
How many of them are conscious, overlapping, forgotten?
Windows cracked open,
skid marks at an intersection,
fingerprints on the top of the subway door.
The oblivion of a leaf growing in a Taipei forest.
Fluorescent subway bulbs taken for granted by night travelers.
Narrow roads, seen as greasy smears of traffic,
instead of as lines of pavement doodled on the world.
It doesn't stop or begin anywhere,
but words that only exist in our heads
define the borders of our existence.
If I am Here and you are There,
tell me where everyone's breaths stop mixing.
I nag myself
and turn sharp corners
and I cringe
when I touch bathroom doors.
I pin minutes to a bulletin board
and I point fingers
when my stainless steel
I yell rhetorically
at poor drivers,
the only thing I can't internalize.
I hate smeared glass,
the smell of outside, inside,
and anything said patronizingly.
I like the way you are built;
on a smile
on a shrug.
easy to look at.
You become the atmosphere
of the room,
but I always leave
when my coffee is gone.
(Ending obligatory conversation
even though no one is going to bed soon.)
She likes Twitter.
He likes Reddit.
like wet socks
and forgetting what I wanted to say.
left in the corners,
a poor sweeping job
done by melatonin.