Spirit Chase
I dreamed of three freckled madmen in the elevator of a hotel,
one of them with a suitcase lined with tabby cat fur,
and in the elevator they offered me a silver necklace,
sterling lace with a gentle looped clasp.
it glowed in serene queenly brilliance against
the soft orange and mellow yellow meow fabric.
"to wear beauty, madam, is to be beauty."
and the chain of the necklace sparkled with a secret.
the freckled men waited as I tried to hear;
metal cannot speak, but this was a dream
and still it would not talk.
so I picked up the silver necklace,
wondering if it was wise to wear beauty that
was hiding something inside.
however, it's hard to be logical in dreams,
so I held the delicate links up to my neck
and let them dance along my throat.
the elevator stopped and I thanked the three freckled men
as I stepped off into the lobby of the Marriott.
the world went on its way, passing the moment
as I passed a mirror later that day, and caught glance
of a snake slowly eating its own tail around my throat,
sliding itself deeper and deeper within its own
slithering reptilian mosaic, slitted eyes laughing.
but all I felt was silver, so I walked on; after all,
these things happen in dreams, and all I could do
was say to everyone, look at how much beautiful I am.
- Fu-zu Jen, 4.20.01
Remind Me
remind me to be
apathetic.
throngs do it
everyday
one can get so sick
of caring
for your trimmed eyebrows
and 12 hour days.
remind me that ambition
made me ugly
but nothing is more beautiful
than a woman
who succeeds
though I hope my pedestal
is tall enough
for the leap.
remind me to be
polite
I cross my legs while
listening to you
and imagine those lips
on another man.
it was the weather, perhaps
or an unexplicable mood swing
(a female thing, if you will)
I swear I didn't mean it
when my heart wandered
and you continued talking about
chardony and stocks
remind me to be not surprised
if you find my habit
of post-its and color coding
a little odd,
sticky yellow messengers
along my monitor and all over the walls,
my words in shorthand
dancing along the hall
remind me to throw away
the one with our names
pink hearts and black ink
who knows now what it's
supposed to remind me of.
- Fu-zu Jen, 2.5.01
Match
Cigarette smoke and auburn hair:
Ah, candlelight, how you mock her beauty,
flickering in and out of focus.
There's something fuzzy in the periphery:
She is drinking all I have left of the vodka,
and not the cheap stuff either.
I hear my wallet groaning,
Or perhaps it was the clock.
It tends to groan the seconds away as I
lick my lips watching her lick her
Red, red lips.
Red, red hair, a halo of blood around that
pretty face.
Tonight, anything goes.
She sits on her kitchen throne, unaware that
the dirty dishes have conquered the sink
and are now systematically raping
the dishwashing soap.
She is oblivious, I believe, even to me, staring,
wishing, wanting.
She wants to play mind games.
And she is my sovereign, so I move my pieces
on pastel cream tiles and hope she cannot
anticipate.
Although I wouldn't be surprised if
she were to become
alive
screeching as she leaps over the table,
knocking down the candles so carefully placed
on reflective silver trays
and unsheathe her fangs to tear at my
willing soul.
But for now she simply sits there,
the cigarette parting her red lips as I would
part the space between our thoughts, between her thighs,
each half, a game board
where I smile at her and nod my head.
I give her the next move.
- Fu-zu Jen, 1.11.01
Extremity
The motivations of clockwork
ticking, we board
buses and trains
something turns purple
behind my eyes
she says her retinal
muscles are weak
call 911 if you see
a cell float by,
but even the lowly cell
becomes something greater
in the whole.
Do you think the toe cells
realize what the
finger cells are doing?
I'd like to think
we could be aware
but awareness departs me from
muddy boots stomping
in the lobby, with
glass doors revolving
in and out we go,
swirling, swirling,
perhaps we are the toes
but do not know if the
fingers even exist.
The rhythms we keep
mask our faces and
our sense of worldly perception.
But then again,
I don't want to be
the one caught with
my mask off
at the masquerade ball.
So I march to the tick tock beat
holding up eyeholes.
I wonder if there are fingers
out there,
or possibly even a heart.
- Fu-zu Jen, 2.4.01
Erection
metallic smooth
that satin snail tip
ah, so exciting,
erections, ejections, endomorphins,
entropy in my eyes
glittering in neon anticipation
squeaky boots
squeaky fabric
tossed across the table back,
my back, rolling along
your iron velvet
purple in the halogen glare
shimmering because of our sweaty
silicon love blues
pedal to the metal to my
meddling fingers.
oh, they like to get in the way
perhaps we should
let them interfere;
besides, my smirk tells me
we'll never get caught.
oh, please, won't you stay?
be my neighbor,
what a good little bad boy you are,
so metallic smooth, begging for
a shiny new high.
- Fu-zu Jen, 2.5.01
Mentor
Teach me of pink leather,
of zebras walking in your front yard.
Let us sit at lacquered tea tables
and talk of silver and glitter,
of neon primrose and white feathers.
Part her cherry lips and teach me
of pleather love and latex lust
in the old studio just south of 52nd.
You wear your old adage like
a crystal cross and preach to me.
Mother Modern Bohemia, teach me
of herbal tea and herbal highs.
Teach me of fruits that peel and squeal
and wriggle in your embrace,
with juicy, sticky fingers that rub
the purple stain deeper into a
raspberry rupual grave.
Bury the evidence and teach me of
freedom in a burlap sack,
where pigeons gather to feast on
the leftover hoagies of your celebration.
Your voice frightens them to flight
as you teach me the wisdom of the
cluttered concrete street, imparting the
sins of this era upon my wheelbarrow heart
and pushing me into the dirty river.
I hear city tap water
can kill even the rats.
- Fu-zu Jen, 3.10.01