the difference between

a long and waking dream.
following the night sky.
following the moon's gravity,
the waves and tide of the ocean
and following you too. following those
deep impressions in wet sand.
the ocean making pools
of footprints. the salt water,
the drifting, the pushing of minds,
of thoughts

like the grit of the earth
pulsating between sole and sand

shaped and split into hapa
howlie white japanese
girl poc queer pervert
side-step smoker,
chick who likes her water cut
with whiskey, likes her men cut
with women, strangers to break
apart her soul. strange.

older than my country, younger
than my comrades-in-arms,
and smarter than my fears - (lie)

i have other peoples tears
that proves it. i don't want
my smoke in their eyes. i don't want
my dirty words to pollute their minds
with ideas that destroy their beauty
and their perfection. i don't think i
am a poser. perhaps just
a perfectionist. fighting
too hard for that which i love.

the complexity
the hypocrisy and hybridity
the pain
that turns our faces
towards one another, only i
have forgotten (selective
or otherwise) forgotten
my own countenance as
you turn towards me.

don't look at me
i say in no words at all.
let me be. bones with no beginning
but god knows, god knows better.
and a quite cyborg turns
her face to a different mirror
and something else stares
her back...

you, please, say i,
carve out the lines of me.
let be my own wind
set free. a myth gone
mad...