Faye Wei Wei | The Moon Balloon of New York City

little heart feelers

mushrooms blooming at night

rhubarb in clay pots 

they're salty this year

because of the moonlight 

You lay in the grass and you felt the sun

Your voice sings half remembered lullabies,

The moon in the sea bed sleeping

Your heart blushed 

& Jupiter longs to scratch your back, 

To heaven circle around your waist 

The fluidity of a mark,

a leaning into the surface, the pain

Of roughing up the skin of your palms on the jagged edges of the cave walls

a love painting to the sea

the unfurling of a flower 

Revealing the dewy tears 

the nights bountiful rain 

(it rained in my dreams last night this morning the streets are dry)

the moon balloon of new york city 

about flowers blooming

about raindrops 

about tears

about a silver horn, or a silver wine filter 

both simultaneously 

an echo an ear that listens and a horn that calls out and vibrated into the echoed ocean 

ellipses

sunlight

kisses on the page smudged 

dancing insect secretion all over the canvas 

letting the mark find a rhythm

drumming little ants feet all over

the all over body feeling a complete surrender to a void—but thankful for the relief of painting

to feel it, to be inside it, safe 

to make sense of it 

the moon balloon of new york city 

a dream

The spots of time

abstraction is in closer proximity to the breathing of poetry

of lines of words being exhaled and sipped into the little cave between the teeth and just under the slug tongue

monologues and plays; 

the golden heart of a character 

someone not me

a return to the sea will do that to you too

on a boat all summer long floating in the abyss of the space between night and day

flying just below the clouds and just above the mirrored glass surface of the sea

 A minuet on the moon

And I was a flower

The cloud opened up and dew fell to my petal skin

A cowboy kinda thing

Clams in a can 

We shivered with the delight, licked the rain with petal tongue

And it was sweet

Swinging on willow trees,

Hungry and gazing over a field of silver flowers

Admit the rabbit had it right

A backwards dandelion clock

Vegetarian hare, 

A full circle heaven thing

Inside my seashell 

The dimness

The quiet

The blueness of the ocean

Is soaked into my bone

I dream of being the mermaid

But the water is too cold

For my 

Slug body

And the primrose

So pale and buttery 

Slips in amongst the grass

Like slices of moon 

Poem by Faye Wei Wei