21 Jul




surrounded by love

like a bad smell

it’s been magic

and history

an empty conference room

where hands had been shook


I can barely refuse to take her dress off

the zipper along the curving gradient of her spine

and she reminds me that no island should remain unnamed

and that Gabriel García Márquez died today

both of us sweat through our clothes during a nervous night

tossing and turning through the city fog and the flush of something heavenly departing

me, because I’ve been drinking too much this week

her, simply because she likes to read


because despite her self-heralded external obstinacy

she still caught some of that thaumaturgy in her eye

it never left

because it can’t

because within it

we’ll live wistfully through millennia

and villages where goat milk is the way to barter

and love doesn’t hide on plates

or in wallets, lofts or zip-lock bags of the Cali Bubba Kush

bought in a pissy alley in Jackson Heights

it is a holy ether

clogging up the lungs

of the thing

– the mechanism –

that makes it move


breathe deeply, little darling

I see it moving


[for GGM]



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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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