his falsetto sends goosebumps dancing down my spine.
it makes me wonder what pitches he speaks
and in which key. maybe in g major for g-ood luck
but so common. and he is uncommon.
my toes do a tap dance to the beats of his songs.
sometimes it sounds like a studio
and i am his drummer, making drums out of desks
and restaurant tables while the old couple next to me
worry for me (is she going insane?).
i'm not.
i could be the subject of his lyrics;
i'll make sure my name rhymes with his words.
chord progressions like progressions of a relationship--
he might be too experienced for me;
i hope it's a ballad, i hope i can keep up with his tempo
moving like bullet trains.
(c)2004 mai kozai
silence is also music. {1:26 AM}
amazing. he is one of my favorite poets of all time. enjoy.
broken dreams
There is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
For your sole sake -- that all heart's ache have known,
And given to others all heart's ache,
From meagre girlhood's putting on
Burdensome beauty -- for your sole sake
Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,
So great her portion in that peace you make
By merelywalking in a room.
Your beauty can but leave among us
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
A young man when the old men are done talking
Will say to an old man, "Tell me of that lady
The poet stubborn with his passion sang us
When age might well have chilled his blood."
Vague memories, nothing but memories,
But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.
The certainty that I shall see that lady
Leaning or standing or walking
In the first loveliness of womanhood,
And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
Has set me muttering like a fool.
You are more beautiful than any one,
And yet your body had a flaw:
Your small hands were not beautiful,
And I am afraid that you will run
And paddle to the wrist
In that mysterious, always brimming lake
Where those What have obeyed the holy law
paddle and are perfect. Leave unchanged
The hands that I have kissed,
For old sake's sake.
The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme
I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
(c) w.b.yeats
silence is also music. {1:06 AM}
Thursday, October 28, 2004
stories of mr. nobody
keep picking at that scab,
your life as you butchered it to be.
covering the child of a scar
for what reasons but to hide.
and you could see it in strangers
what kinship has hidden from you for years.
you start to wonder whether you've been lied to
and you hate that about them.
mr. nobody is still an identity,
and that's no reason for you to fantasize with hermits.
there were moments when your bruises,
they'd be dots and you'd connect them
like a game
and create shapes so intangible we could have sworn
they were hieroglyphics.
but you said no, they are blueprints of buildings yet to be built
and that was that.
but when you came out of the doctor's office
with that gray expression and your back slumped over
like the great st. louis arch:
we needed a second opinion.
(c)2004 mai kozai
silence is also music. {7:00 PM}
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
mind games with p.e.k.
to the ones who care.
it's like that one mind trick
for those with low self-confidence.
you know, when you keep telling yourself
how incredibly smart you are,
or how great you look.
mind tricks work,
you know. i play them all the time
and my mind hates it by
now but each time it works.
the one i am working on right now
is the one where i tell myself
i hadn't heard the dreading news
about this hate crime (what's new?)
and this break-up over dinner (which i knew
was coming), and this faint chance that you
could die as soon as tomorrow (too soon).
so i'm telling myself that there is no possibility
that you can just up and leave
because just like everyone else,
my mind only believes in the "facts" it wants to believe.
(is it working yet?) i'm so afraid
it might not work this time,
that my mind might be late in concreting the correct facts,
that you might be gone before i could even register it.
(c)2004 mai kozai
silence is also music. {11:00 PM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
