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:: Lia Yaranon Hall ::

Submit your original poetry to be displayed in the Penman Lounge on freestylevision.com

I am a fake librarian, a real graduate student, a wannabe acrobat, fallen trapeze artist, aspiring yoga teacher, and bicycle fanatic dreaming about the lives inside and outside of New York City. I am currently investigating the art of tea and trying to love everyone all at once. Although my mother often accused me of being hard headed, I still consider myself highly impressionable. After watching a corny bike film, I got the idea to wash one of my bikes in the shower, which resulted in clogging my drain major New York grime accompanied by bleach-resistant black grease streaks on the white tile. I like this kind of contrast—it resembles words on a page. I like to read and write too.

::02:01:08::

::: How to avoid the peace obstacle :::

I am more animal now than ever.
You are more vegetable.
Less human, more numeral breakdown
A cobalt dissolution

Purify my drinking water
With a sign of the cross
My heart pours in copper over the sink
So as not to drip a dipstick needle in your distilled horseradish
Peppering bloods.

One day I won’t have this full throw of hair
Nor hear the sines and waves traversing through the air.
Nor will I have the proof that I ever did.
Separate my toes and nod my head to the gift of beat no longer will I.
Going on eighty, I will release the process used in previous olfactory projects.

Hand over these boats and rays and pass on the polluted haze
Salute that sun along the bay
Squander for those fleets of flash cards and friendly folios
Overlapping knots per hour together.

On a nameless annual festival where on average there’s a shooting,
In autumn there are not shootings this year
But a bike ride means dodging doors and taxi hands on a busy street
To cap it all.

Our only desire is to die, but we just kill the time.
Executing a two-step shuffle.
“Why do they only dance ironically,” said the olive-skinned white biped of the white people dancing rhetorically
As though they argue, “There’s no such thing as too much fun.”

Can you layout the logistics of how to dance with soul
Could you hold your back along the wall, still
Now what will you belt about your wasted skill
Strap it with a nine mil’ kill?

Written by: ~ Lia Yaranon Hall

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