I.

Clean and just
I’ll rip through the Hong Kong harbor cloud crack
reach back for our island sky;
We will soon sail on nightly lost tracks
And I’ll rejoin us in the same absent smile
That lends a kiss on your lips
which always turns the silent insider pale moon page young;
you are always rushing under my silky taste,
I mutter your name under my tongue, “Marie, Marie, Marie…”

II.
On Delta wings, honing instincts blade
the flashback snaps your fingers tangled in my hair–
blank Bourne’s frame shoots a short nap.

III.

graph2Again running a sequel from the old Treadstone celluloid spool
the tight city-bay muscle repulses known scenes dissolve
where the gut feeling spar
holds breath
behind the glass paired graphs of hidden skyline camera eyes.
Soon, slanted faces pin me down on Salisbury’s golden intersection,
dusk light, for a moment, stuck in a prism of refractions
MattDamonasJasonBournehidden clues sketch convex nodes
render leads whisper in ellipses
getting closer to the dark jump cut–
writing an uncensored script against the plot draw,
as always a skilled fool
a final chase against the self….

IV.
graphnumbers…. one more time caught in the full circle of the hazy Silk Road,
turning the world from one-dimensional plane–gain or lose–game
into the black and white merging spheres
where the superfluous line betwixt curves
hushes chaos into a balance
and I act even when
jasonbourne1a long shot of hollow heel beats in my lobs
and Cat street clutches tense
paving Temple Night Market chattering
in a net of a spyder who knits the invisible final trap

____________________________________

“The moment had come. It was now.”
“Study everything. You’ll find something you can use.” Robert Ludlum, “The Bourne Supremacy”

 

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