the tape has worn out

eyes wide focus lightly
don't scratch the surface
lips dry moving slowly
go slow

can i see this forever?
ordinary and mundane
medicine for my heart
lightly slowly crushed

it's hard not to breathe you in
just keep the window open
open through the night
leaking everything

we'll always have goldsworthy
and water stains on coffee tables
fleeting and fading
turn off the light

it's all over me
and i don't know
what the fuck
we are doing.

when it's time, let me know.

it's in the wind now

uneven dust on the shelf
see the place where you put your shoes
they haven't been there in a while
i can still see them

it'll keep coming
tides in and out
washing away what i thought would stay forever
i can still see them

this can't leave my body
stains on shirts, blood in my fingernails
hush and roar and silence
i can still see them

why aren't they there anymore?

a step in the right direction

Running out the daylight
clinging to the night
stars staring back at us.

This should be
what it is
It still is.

I'll hold out till they come for us
with feather in hand
and you at my side.

Scattered tiny scratches
with a long embrace
Set sail to the wind.

And in the dark before the light goes out.

the cold electric

It was like slipping on a worn pair of shoes
everything  fit where it was supposed to
shrinking away from uncertainty

We can wander into the night
slipping in and out of different universes
just to take a look

For a few seconds at a time I feel
I am in the right place
your gaze within mine

we took this too far

what if i said i missed you

your hair has turned dark and musty

watch the butterflies hatch out of it

in this weathered hand i see

tucked into bed and waiting

swirled destinies and widows wilting

everything melts and mixes

still silently sitting on the top coagulating 

this will take too long

i see the beginning of it

galloping and shredding through 

everything that had been carefully laid out.

the look

the sun stars shine through your straw hat
I followed the wind to your door
knocked the three knocks
we agreed

he looked at me like he knew me
picked up on the side of the road
he could build a house with his own hands
sleep beside it and dream

we stand, road beneath our feet
sun on my brow, blisters on my heels
step into dark
you still have that soap in your mouth

what it means to be a global citizen

Two years ago I was sitting in a 75 square foot room eating cheerios and waiting  for the kathmandu bus to roll around the hill. it was only my third day at the monastery and of what I thought would be another spiritual and cathartic experience for me to remember. Instead I was siting alone in a room with a window, one bed, a nightstand with a lone incense holder on top, and my backpack filled with unwashed clothes. The monks do not speak english and I did not want to get in the way of their daily routine of puja and other duties. I could walk out to the hill of prayer flags and listen to them flap in the wind as I stare off in the distance at the Himalayas but I have already done that twice today. Meandering around this sacred place I could not grasp the history I knew was here. This monastery marked the place where Buddha sacrificed his body to a mother tiger so she could feed her cubs. In the distant forests I imagine a tiger charging up and eating me but that irrational fear finally dulled. The neighbors of the monastery watch me as I roam around the hill, as if I didn't feel out of place enough. I strolled down to the cafe at the foot of the monastery and hope to see some monks playing soccer or picking up trash. I ordered some milk tea and sat down to read my book on the Dalai Lama while periodically shooing flies away. I noticed the grandmother of the shop owner outside, squatting and shelling chili peppers on a mat in the sun. I realized that what I had come to this place to learn and what I was reading about in the book I held was to practice compassion and selflessness so I sat down with her and began shelling chili peppers. She smiled and laughed at me. Her son came over and vowed me how to do it properly without spilling all of the seeds out of their pods. Soon it was me, grandma, her son and his wife all sitting around a pile of chili peppers laughing at each other and smiling, not speaking each others' language. This was the experience I was looking for - a connection with a stranger. It was an awkwardly natural interaction between us, something born out of smiles and gestures, without words. I came to Nepal to see how other people live in the world, to experience another life and there I was, being tickled by an old Nepali woman with missing teeth and worn fingers; the fingers of someone who has been shelling chili peppers her whole life. 

Growing up in Silicon Valley, I had a very skewed view of the world and its inhabitants. We live in a bubble here that is rarely affected by changes in the economic climate or even climate in general; a place where we can be blinded by our prosperity. I have been longing for a clear perspective of the world and I feel that my trip to Nepal was like dipping my toes into the pool of global awareness. Now I crave to feel that again and to explore the world physically and intellectually in an attempt to feel that twinge of connection with everyone in it; the same feeling I found with grandma and her chili peppers.