Poems — FAYE YAN

Airport

2 am. I wander through rows of

blue tombs in the waiting area

in search for a pair of eyes. Covered by

flies from the leftover fries.

You are my destination.

They licked my wounds. Wounded by

words shot from cities away.

The planes are taking off.

Which one is yours?

I shot all of them down.

Their wan concrete bodies

writhed on the ground. I hope we can see each

other again sometime. I just want to

see your viscous lips.

But the planes are empty.

Text me when you wake up?

His phone died.

My sleepless womb

Do my emotions spook you?

An ancient reminder

of witchery’s horror.

The blasphemy

of the blood that creeps through me—

the rotten taste, of unholiness.

I am

a crazy bitch,

a frantic woman,

a hormonal slut.

I am a soundless pond,

that carries cacophonies and wildfire

in my sleepless womb,

always, ready to give birth.

Am I

too intense?

Darling, please.

You’re still on the surface.

I will baptize you

strangle you and tickle you.

Sleep.

Rest upon my innocent pond

I will leave an innocent leaf

For you to lie on.

Go on, voyager.

Go explore, the big wide world.

I am the balletic whirlpool

that loves you tons.

Gore Motel

O savor the sadness,

for we are so past the age of feeling infinite.

Novels don’t even excite me now.

All we have

are fruit flies and wines in a Gore Motel.

No more swollen mood swings.

No more storms on empty pages

—you were nothing but my portable home.

Peel me up no more,

for I have been de-los angelized.

Synchronized and immunized.

Or does it even matter to you?

I am neither Frankenstein’s bride,

nor the owner of a floating fishing resort.

Just a brain shoved onto a body without consent.

And you,

you are no Gore Motel,

not even with jars of your dead fish,

the fetus of a cat,

the blobfish you are so proud of,

the real human skull,

or the jacket that reeks of morgue.

Granted,

the reader says:

but you are writing again.

The writer shrugs

and gets on the subway at 1 pm.

Panic Attack Five Acts

Prologue

Everything ahead of me crumbled into a huge ball of tangled black wire

I am sitting on my toilet.

Act I

here it goes again

the ice cube chokes

on the bottom of my

throat. it grows and

grows until my larynx

could not contain

it anymore it

splits into five ice

tunnels.

into my limbs.

into to my head.

Act II

the tunnel reaches my mouth.

freezes it until it becomes

a desert.

i try to water the mouth

but the sand evaporates the moisture.

then a tunnel reaches my fingers tips.

strangles them until they disconnect

from my body.

ice

cold baby.

Act III

i’m going to be paralyzed

or die

soon my whole body is invaded

by dry ice

like a corpse

is it?

i’m sinking into the tunnel

the heart rolls backwards as it skips a beat

cardiovascular disease for sure

yes ambulance but i can’t afford

Act IV

I've done it a million times

Breath in

Breath out

I wish I could bury my knotted brain