if you’re hungry in north oakland/temescal, you can’t go wrong at pyung chang tofu house. i could eat the stoneware bibimbab every day. many tiny plates of various kimchees. good korean beer. barley tea. i always fail to stop eating before i am satisfied. the tables are big and sturdy enough for a one year old to crawl on, too, in case you were wondering.
for jt
in between bouts of relentless rain, the moon,
unencumbered by clouds, sings
of the glorious spring to come. my neighbor- i hope
she shares this auspicious moment
these poems i’m reading go on and on and on
image upon image, tough to decode
i can’t say that they’re good or bad, but only
that my heart is getting poor reception
as disappointing as the news can be
it’s garbage night, the cans are out
and there’s no reason to suspect they won’t
be empty in the morning
i used to ride my bike to work in the rain
and walk for hours, before dawn, below zero
joyfully, to meditate with strangers,
spontaneous belly-laughs issuing
from ticklish, curious, solitary depths that no one
shared. and now i rush from this
to that, i run the heater, forget to sit,
chasing scores of dancing children.