jae ming jue Jae Ming Jue has been writing in compulsive spurts since he was a small boy growing up in Chicago's south side. His writing process is not unlike giving birth to children--painful with a long period of time in-between kids. Currently he's germinating poems about various cities he's lived in before arriving in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared at The Banyan Review, Verse Libre Quarterly, The Real Eight View, Erosha, and Circle Magazine with poems upcoming in Pemmican, and Three Cup Morning. Although he has no deeper understanding of Life's mysteries, he feels, he imagines, and he writes. jae_ming_jue@earthlink.net   Rain in Los Angeles Tears of heaven pour down my body oversaturating clothes long since expired. A frozen heartbeat, red piercing the sodium yellow air held me fast to this corner. My flesh pushed down by the hours did little to break the cold shivers caressing the marrow of my loneliness. Neither did the change to green provide me suture as I cross the wet asphalt, a shadowy reflection of a thousand angels crying. I tread quickly on piss-stained sidewalks glimpsed  in stark blue flashes of an angry sky of ash. A pair of black cats cut my stride. Rain continued to prick my flesh as I stared back at them. Not a gentle hand to sweep aside my matted hair that I may see her. I trick myself. Alone I leap over staring eyes. Up concrete steps, thru a heavy door. I open my mailbox. Bills and the like. Up more steps, two at a time, down a hall, unlock my door... Neighbors across the hall in rhythmic pleasure punctuated by girlish giggles. I lay myself down on cold solitude. Wrapping myself tightly in dirty sheets with the dark, darker than before. The blinds whispering softly. And I stare. A Flat Tire Arms waving and men hollering flip flip flop, flip flip flop. that sinking, knowing feeling but i was not particularly bothered maybe perhaps indifferent. I think to myself how cool i'm not angry. A woman hollers indignation at me in her driveway. 5 minutes lady just 5 minutes. she stands defiant by her trapped car staring into my toiling, squat form Bitch okay maybe i'm not so cool. Tighten the lugs toss the crowbar shut the trunk glare at indignation with equal defiance. As i back the car into a recently vacated space convenient, eh? I begin to know i'm not going to make the wedding. two replaced tires, a wheel alignement, an oil change, and $250 later maybe the dinner yes maybe the dinner.   Of Remorse Shadows creep upon the edges of moonbeams and mishapen night. A glimmer of sullen hope illuminates thy call to arms by father's dying breath. What war has brought in jealous haste, must be laid to rest on bloody death. In the wake of love there is no victor.

copyright deep cleveland llc, all rights reserved
comments: deepcleveland@hotmail.com