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the colours of your imagination
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ai li

d  e  w  -  o  n  -  l  i  n  e
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six

created, designed & edited
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by  ai  li

for Conroy Maddox
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out of still

                        bench sitting
                                wish the sparrow
                                        would join me

                         leaf stain
                         for years
                         you haunted
                         this terrace

                        is not sand but ash
                        the white wide blanket
                        dancing in the wind

                         i climb the side walk
                         and think
                         of the trees
                         we hide
                         with.

nits she said  scratching her head and laughing

                        

                        WHAT RHYMES WITH ABUSE

                        I believe it I don't
                        want to believe it I want to cry
                        you were only beginning
                        your life is smashed
                        this poem I want to write I
                        don't want to write
                        but what your father did
                        in horror's backyard I can't
                        describe this page
                        I want to hold you I don't want
                        to hold you I want to cry

                         asylum
                         locked doors
                         between us
                         

                        i will leave letters
                        all over your
                        hands
                        if you let me
                        get my fingers
                        around them.

                        long drive home
                        your arm
                        out the window
                        gilded rows of wheat
                        bending in the sun
                        

                         TRYING TO CURE MYSELF, LATE JUNE

                         "Oh fortunate earth, you must find someone
                         to make you bitter music..."

                         I am sick of these
                         quotations of life
                         that call themselves poems, these fragments
                         that want to be whole

                         I am sick
                         of it all & go on
                         living alone

                         Wanting to sit by the Summer grass
                         these mallow flowers

                         Wanting a mother, a lover
                         a friend
                         a soul

                        lin the depths of winter
                         you come         armed with breath
                         little else      and i give you
                         touch     heat     and
                         stripped moonlight

                        lA skunk's carcass--
                         the vulture tear bits of fur
                         in the farm road's darkness

                        lthey tell us
                         our open hearts
                         will only infect us
                         in the end.

                        lWITH A FRIEND

                         My father cracked up
                         when I was 16

                         At least he didn't beat me
                         like yours did

                         & the monastery's safe
                         it'll hold us

                         It'll contain the opening
                         up into grief

                        lOn the long arm of
                         concrete,  shadow-veins of spring
                         light and winter trees.

                        lsidewalks in Russia
                         women in furs
                         eyeing each other's throats

                        l                    EDEN

                      -  If you can't say yes to me, I said, just say no.

                      -  No, she said

                        li wonder
                         about the limits of
                         time
                         and space

                         stretch my arms across the
                         bed.

                        lgod forgot the sun today
                                                 grey day
                         bend in the wind or break

yellow leaves us alone

                        lin a stir
                         of leaf shadow

                         her barefeet

                         losing the sense
                         of her words

                        l Photography

                          his loneliness,  in
                          the kitchen
                          near

                          the window,
                          a vase
                          of tulips.
                          
                         

                        lERRATA
                         (after Charles Simic)

                         Instead of Autumn
                         read purple, instead
                         of I don't know why
                         the world keeps turning
                         read flowers & poo
                         where it says 3 kittens
                         learning how to waddle
                         round the floor of the yurt
                         read fear, where it says
                         fear read life, instead
                         of life read joy, where
                         it says 2 beer bottles
                         plane tickets stinky
                         condoms brand new
                         sandals poetry books
                         farting in bed Kwanyin
                         read Julie read Julie
                         grass shall continue
                         being green, instead
                         of when will I ever
                         ever write like Basho
                         say Stio
                         

                        lshe looks at me
                         lotus leaves
                         floating further
                         downstream

                        lwithin wet
                                      feet
                         closer

                        lsunrise
                         father throws the fly
                         over sleeping fish

                        lanother year
                         the empty garden
                         i look for
                         your shadow
                         to support mine

                        lMoment

                         With weathered
                         slip,
                         I occasionally find a
                         peace.

                        lwalking in the park
                         I stop before one tree
                         blossomed recently;
                         the leaves are
                         luminous with candles

for   now              a   second pause

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