Star Praying Mantis Shaolin
The light of dusk through the shallow
hallway on her milky backside
is demurely screened, illuminating the silk
gathered around her necklaced ankles,
a delicate mooncake.
I wish she was the gold many-limbed statue
come to life, Heavens Concubine,
her black waterfall hair
cascading down bare shoulders
not the she-warrior
her lime sash loop-knotted over black billowy
tucked in above suede monkey-style boots.
Summon for the fourth form to begin
and let us face the tribunals together
Chop raw sand, slap bare palm down
then reverse backhand on lead pellets
let the herbal-soaked alcohol deaden nerves,
penetrate the aorta.
Bow and salute three lit punks
deeply inhaling incense
wafting ancestral reverence
meditative trance, spiritual force-field.
Believe the natural power,
effortless swoosh through agnostical air
a crane, Sadaharu Oh,
patient hands back.
Entrust your aural meat cleaver tong
like John Woo hatchet men
a simple matter of faith
protect blood, sinewy
explosive cut left unbalanced
vulnerable, a synaptic response or
some might say Pavlovian
centaur sweep me off my feet.
She floats by, her shoulders tilted
so razor-sharp brown nipples slash my retina.
A quick glance behind the curtained red door
turns me to salt.
Many nights have gone by
since you last poured tea from heirloom
set on still-life trays in exchange
for hoong baos,
and my childhood