All posts by Kijo

About Kijo

Things I see come undone; things I write come true.

Deadwood

All the browns of the world
From her trunk spill forth.

Though her boughs still sway,
Scavengers pilgrimage to her silent decay.

Eat and leave replete.
Hasten her return.

To rot is to be taken apart
As passionately as you were put together.

 

 

 

 

 


 

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Secret Public Meetings

She meets me in sleeves of flowers
and ants around her neck.
Where does she come from
and where does she go?

She greets me
in unabashed bloom,
where everyone can see
but no one is watching

our secret public meetings,
in metro parks, on city sidewalks.
I feign indifference, pen my ecstasy,
to those devoted to punctuality.

They rush by.
I stroke her throat.
I could cry.
How does she do it, again and again?

 

 


 

We Have a Beaten Path Before Us (Remix #3)

Oh, sometimes
I get a good feeling, yeah,
Nothing could ever bring me down.
No, sometimes
I fade into darkness,
I never, never had before.
Enough is enough.
Wake me up.
Sun in the sky,
Scent of pine,
Freedom is mine,
So wake me up.

 

 


All words, including title ‘We Have a Beaten Path Before Us,’ are lyrics from songs Avicii has written or remixed.

 

 

 

star man, surfer dude

Kijo_SchoolOfSurfboards

what now
that there’s a car in space
but a dummy in the front seat

what now
that everyone’s equal
but no one is responsible

what now,
we carry wands called cellphones
to fix our first-world problems

back then,
they thought, let us
climb that, ride that,
build that, break that,
surf that, sail that, fly away,
find new lands, foul them up,
fix them in our image

what now,
modern man

you’ve conceived
and now you’re drawing a blank

 

 


 

The Scream

The wail woke me.
Strobe-light shrieking
sat me up in bed,
I had been sleeping.

We huddled
outside the dorm
wondering what’s the point
of a fire-alarm test in an ice-storm.

There were no real fires that winter,
spring, summer, or fall,
and, today, there are no sirens at my house,
but every so often something happens that resounds
the scream, the call
to exit, to be brought out of dreaming,
to be cranked out of jack-in-the-box living.