Sète, France

spent a night on the beach sand surrounded by red cliffs with wrinkles of time and holes of wisdom. throughout the night, I heard waves churning over and over right by my ears. the night sky of Sete was sparking, dropping diamonds on the sand in silence.

An imaginary conversation with my bald scalp

An imaginary conversation with my bald scalp
- where've you been?
 
the unnoticed landscape of my 24-yr-old bald scalp -
a small hill with sprinkles of black sesame seeds,
tranquil yet attentive.
 
I feel heat on and off from the back of my scalp.
is my scalp blushing?
blushing from sudden exposure to the world, perhaps.
no more hiding under the bushes of black seaweeds
dancing and twisting.
my beautiful scalp remains unagitated
in its coolness and freshness;
a blooming sense of liberation.
 
'how old you are, tiny bumpy pimple on the beautiful hill?'
'i am 17 yrs old,' one shy pimple whispers.
'it is my happiness to be aware of you,' i whisper back.
 
a new conversation has begun
between my unconscious scalp and conscious pimples.
one mold in my left ear tire joins the joyful conversation,
like north and south korean families reuniting in 2000;
we are re-learning how to smile, from inside to outside.
 
the sprinkles of black sesame seeds,
the most visible faculty of my bald scalp,
yet continues to remain quiet and private.
for it knows true attentiveness comes from silence not noise.