Everyone in the capitol is a poet, No one in the capitol is a poet. The poetry which kindled inside me, Is buried now in an unmarked grave. I thought I saw her face on the street, But it must have been her ghost. The mist creeps in over the mountains, I wish I could disappear in it forever. AD 872

For Yu Gone now three long years My nights are long and cold without her. Executed at twenty six years of age, What cruelty to befall such beauty. Some blossoms fall from the tree when the time is right Others are cut down violently and trampled. Chang’An has become as dark as a moonless night, The city in which we once made love. All these years of heartbreak, Has turned my hair grey before its time. AD 871

For Yu XuanJi I sit on top of Old Pine Mountain Chanting her beautiful words. The only thing sweeter than her mouth And more intoxicating than her wine Was the sound of her voice reciting DuFu. For many years I thought The last great poetry died with Bai Juyi, But she could conquer any man With the ink of her calligraphy And with a glance from her eyes. AD 869

The Emperor taxes the people without relent, Rumors of rebellion are whispered in the streets. By the time the eunuchs have taken what they want, There is hardly anything left to get through the winter. Mothers suffocate their babies in the night, Others sell their daughters to officials or whore houses for food. I weep for the extravagance of the court I weep for the pains of the people. AD 856

Her skin is as white and smooth as cream. Her hair, like a dark storm. She dances to an old mountain tune Wearing nothing but a white gauze dress. The cool air blows in through her open windows While we drink wine, and I write poems on her thigh. Her husband is a man of many vices; Spending all his days in the capitol's whore houses. Some nights we weep for the future, But we shed no tears tonight - How much longer can we...

The moon shines like a phosphorescent pearl, Washing the pines and water in a silver glow. I've walked this wooded path many nights; Singing songs to the heavenly river above About this earthly river below. Sitting on my favorite rock, I write these words with water on stone, "How many years do I have left? Does any man know?" And like a dream, I watch the words evaporate Up into the void of the sky. AD 889

Wanderer's blood coursed through my ancestors' veins, Boiling under wind-stretched sails off Africa’s coast, Thousands of miles from their European homes. Their blood stirred at the vast mysteries before them, Legends and rumors of the dark continent, devourer of men, Pulsating through their thoughts As they stepped onto the red soil for the first time. Their wanderlust stirs and boils within my blood too. Echoes of the d...

Miles Davis reverberated smoothly across the dark room, the trumpet built up steadily the way his own anticipation was building at the thought of her waking. Hong Kong Island’s skyline shone brightly into the room from across the water. Gael lit another cigarette, as he sat in a bamboo papasan, and propped his feet up on the window sill. He watched the boats; tiny red and white lights in the darkness moving down the water...

I have waking nightmaresThat it's too late,That I'm too far ,That I've murdered the poetryWhich was being born inside me.I search everywhere I goLooking for its remnants,Not knowing the point in timeOr the place where it was lost.I wonder sometimesIf a glance from your eyesOr a word from your lipsOr even a prayer From the hidden chambers of your heartMight bring it flooding back into my soul.The language which I fear is n...

Jean and I shareThe same visionThe same king.I don't know if old ageOr a family will be granted me,Or if my heart will pour out on the groundIn the great clashWhich will soon be upon us once again.

In the city late at night,Just me, my music, and my gun.A light drizzle through the haze,Orange light posts shine along the street,Illuminating millions of droplets in the halos.Hard cruel and dangerousBut beautiful too.I walk the city late at night,Just me, my music, and my gun.

To whoever you areI can't promise you money,And I can't promise you comfort,But I can promise you a warm handWhen the darkness comesAnd a warm smileWhen all the world rages around us.

An older woman Reading on the light rail, In her purse, a bottle of water With these words on the label, "Source of an Epic Life." I shift my gaze back out the window, And face reality.

All I have is her words All I have is remnants of her soul One thousand years later Cutting me deep With the awareness of her existence. How can a man desire a woman From an entirely different time and place?

Pop an amphetamine and follow the tracesI'm awake for daysin this drowning world always Boiling beneath the surfacesOf hard cruel faces.They tell me I'm an assholeFor calling shit - shittyBut your world, lets be honest, ain't pretty.I can feel it in my armsI can feel it in my legsEnergy of the stars flowing through my veins.I'm coming down like a meteorAt 4AMPrepping for the Minotaur migraineWith Greek fireand waterand fu...