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Easily Mistakable Solace

For every minute I stay away from my home
I gain one minute of bloodless coup, of living
a safe life of bright yellow happy economy.

All said I feel more homesick: the withdrawal from
never getting to see the golden arch dendrobium on our walls
back home, so galore in April. And now it is already October.

I walk backwards 5 meters for every 10 meters forward
and it makes me well-balanced. It takes me a long time
to reach my place from work, though, this is unwilled economy.

And elation and desertion, the raw faces of my folks
so insipidly show and I notice their spontaneity,
leaving behind the stories after stories

of our lives, of conflict, of felicity,
of dreams, of drunken lives, of queer sexuality,
of illnesses, of political fighting, of poverty;

I cannot help but offer them sweet flowers,
though less concerning it is than our imagined stories,
for what I’m away is not at all what I’m home.





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