If you love, adore the moon. If you rob, steal a camel.

Stories for the Long Silk Road

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Craig Shay: The Firecat Opened its Eyes

Dedication:  For my wife


“One may say courage
and one may say fear”

-George Oppen


It is the time of night
when worlds slip
in and out of focus

When the pulsating
fourth dimension
opens its gabardine jaws

White swans float still
on black lakes
sometimes plastic ones

and I cannot tell
which ones are real
and which ones are fake.


I saw you smile
one moment

while you
stopped singing

glared at the river
as it tamed our hearts

I broke down
tore off your clothes

and carried you
to the burial ground

If only
you’d have kept singing

you would know
about the silence

echoing between
each note –

those years
are gone

into the fire
and back

through the doorway
of miserable silhouettes.


Certainty – breaks you
into fragments

I fear – when dosed
with your metallic emblems

Your grace – passionate
Laughter – coming and

Calling, to hither,
the Grave is – a soft collapse

And the doorway to the unknown is
Here and a leap
from a Stone – to

Walk over water
and become the

Exchange rate
between alone, and

Becoming obscured
There is only

an Illusionist on the stage
Hypnotizing and

Mesmerizing us

into partaking

In his childish games.


The blackbird crawling
on the left side of my skull
started clawing

I opened my eyelids, and he flew out
and proceeded to wreck the room,
as he flew between
the bookshelves
causing them
to crash magnificently to the floor –

I became overwhelmed trying
to capture this manifestation
of my pain
and slipped on a glossy paperback,
losing consciousness for several days

When I came to my senses
books were everywhere, shaking with fear.

I saw the blackbird stuck beneath a book of unwritten poetry
and quickly clasped the pages shut.


I give a name to the void
that stirs me –
From sleep, it is not the same breathe
of life – but
the emergency of reality –
I do not know
its face – but
somehow it sure knows me.


When the swallows return to their towers
they will attempt to die between pages
trying to become immortal

ink will bleed from the pages

they will have kindle around their heads
they will have rose colored cheeks
and remember the intimate details of the  plague

the muse died long ago
boiled up while sleeping in a frozen pale death –


Because a horse is being beaten
I will become who I am
I will spread out my intentions
liquidating all of them –

Because a horse is being beaten
I will stare into its eyes
I will lose myself like a child
in a world of disguise

Because a horse is being beaten
I will cast myself aside
I will work for evil
and be the apple of its eye

Because a horse is being beaten
I will finally know
Why I said we were guilty
Of killing off that innocent man again.


In Einstein’s time
there were rhetorical theories,
with rational pathos of logic

A gold cat opened its eye

After Einstein’s time
there were concept with holes,
trapdoors of logic,
and an expanding space

The gold cat opened another eye

With the arms of Atlas
Einstein threw the rock, to
disrupt the still
lukewarm water
of fixed neutrons

The gold cat
yawned –
was nothing
left in the world
he could do.


in my bones
I woke up
this morning,
and couldn’t
I was never
how to think,
only what to think.
They spit
the party’s motto
into my face
Later I spit it right back,
like a bloody tooth,
beaten loose,
from my jawbone.


Once I saw
the whole world
was on fire –
and I tried
to put out the
flames with my
single drop of water –
until I remembered
I was the whole ocean –
and I could
put the fire out
whenever I chose.


I fear little
when dosed

your light is passionate
I feel a laugh
coming on

calling the gravedigger
to hoe

I am walking
on stones
across a dark ocean.


are molded
into forms
they do not sign up for
The world goes
mad for reasons
no one
to understand

She listens to the rain,
because it speaks
to her
wants to be
her friend
has their ideas
sewn into their

I uprooted
my crops
this morning
because I knew
it would
make her laugh
I undid
the curtain
I knew she
in the bath.


I feel a great
I must not say

I see a great
I must not think

I cannot say
what needs
to be said –

I cannot think
this –

I cannot know this –

are waiting
the thinker
at the end
of a rope or
a gun or
an unmarked grave –

It is closing time
for the mind
get your
nice and


I woke up
found your lips –
just a moment before
I was writing a poem

It was easy to
close my eyes
I would see you again –

‘Peachy’ was the color
that I saw I had written
it was the color of your lips

The poem made
the harvest grow
and we made love
every morning –

The rows were planted
with words
and in early May they came alive.


On the canvas
there are no clusters
of paint
but only a series
of misfortunes –

And all I know
of these moments,
are my own obscenities

They are dead faces
losing lotto tickets
wrecked cars
empty bank accounts

The composition
is not so random –
at times

It accurately
the solidarity
of the people
within walls of their own creation

and go.

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Silk Road Mantra

by Suchoon Mo

bury me not

in the lone Silk Road

I go and go

from west to east

I go and go

from east to west

bury me not

in the lone Silk Road


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