PADDY PRESS

Plow before harvest.

A Thousand Tankas (1)

Midmorning   Dark granules streaming, water whistles on the stove; spoon bangs surfaces, noise of the melting sugar; anywhere is silence, still. —– Chagrin   The lavender bush on the veranda is blossoming, a taunt or dare, not sure, I Read more…


Garbage Love

Before Brokeback Mountain, we had been breaking our backbones in the hill of trash; you dug for iron scraps, while I collected  every shape of plastic; you held onto my ribcage,  and I leaned on wood eaten by termites. We Read more…


Fishing with Liz

The waters in Rio were abundant with big groupers, slippery catfish, and snappers, red and delicious. I did not like fishing, but doing it with her, I learned to love it and how to catch— she cast the net; I Read more…


I’m Done Melting Rocks

When you slowly nodded to the third attempt of my lips, was it pity you couldn’t say or did you just want to suck the smoke out of my mouth as if a bowl wasn’t enough? I’m tired of scoring Read more…


My Own Beethoven

His fingers won’t tell me how he lost his voice as if the words piling up and struggling on his tongue are not that important. When he taps his right ear with the measured lightness of his hunched forefinger, he’s Read more…


Before Seppuku

Our exchanges on the bare tatami mat were side glances and at times in syllables.   He smiled a little when my kimono fell off my shoulders and flaunted my nape.   The halt in his nodding did not stop Read more…


Mamasan’s Apprentice

It is night again. I let down my silken hair over my shoulders and open my thighs over my lover. Tell me, is there any part of me that is not lovable?— Tzu YehBreathing is the secret to clearing your Read more…


River Phoenix

When we last spoke in Gainesville, you told me about strict veganism, the nutrients from aubergine, and transcendental meditation, the benefits of Om airy breathing. October that year suddenly ended in a lifetime of mourning I silently sobbed when I Read more…


La Vie En Rouge

All I’ve done all my life is disobey. — Edith Piaf Even the dripping  of the bathroom faucet is in mourning as it slowly fills with its sobs the worn-out tub whose silver pipe and iron paws  are rusting. The Read more…


Whore of Márquez

Before the cholera and the sores of syphilis, our eyes met and we knew each other’s name, behind us only the wind and the moon our voyeur. You became the usual smile at the downtown hotel where I slept off Read more…