March 2024

A new poem by Tao Lin

Meditating in sunlight grounded.
Dreamlets of chronic pain
on a spiraling blue planet.
My left vision is yellower
than my right. I’m becoming
a good role model for myself.
Masturbating and worrying less.
Maybe I’ll paint my roof blue.
Our most powerful telescopes
might be pointing down at Earth.
I forgot to meditate for a week.
I get upset when Mom tells me
to be careful. I love that
I invited her to stay with me.
Dad massaged her back.
I saw it through the screen.
16 ounces milk = 1 ounce butter
and directed energy weapons
are pointing down at roofs.
In my memory, moonlit verdure
seems almost colorless.
I have severe insomnia.
Cheese-tasting with my cats.
Soon I will learn vitamin A
is nonessential and toxic.
Dudu died late last month.
My parents cried. I cried
with my cat on my lap,
facing moonlit verdure,
thinking of Dad crying.
I’d never seen him cry.