Cute Asian Invasion

I’m waiting for all

attractive Asian

ladies of a ripe

and ready age

to come invade

my nation and

help turn

History’s page.

I’ve suffered

much in this

longish life

and to heal

me now

after all

that strife

isn’t in the

cards, you

see; but at

least having

some kitty-

faced angels

in place, here,

there, and

everywhere

as the Beatles’

song plays,

would go a

long long way

towards assuaging

my grief and

lingering rage

at the gods and

goddesses too,

and might even

make those days

that remain

more bearable,

if not beautiful.

So bring on

those cosplaying

Hello-Kitty

apparrel wearers,

those dark-eyed

K Pop biological

cute bombs

with Betty

Boop eyelashes

and giggling

girlish ways.

I’ve had enough

of female

masculinity

and co-ed

lavatories;

no thank

you, PC.

The Yang

needs the Yin,

as the ancient

Daoists knew

that to bow

to cosmic truth

is no sin;

and Vive la

Difference,

as the French

used to say,

though now

I’m sure

that’s considered

“hate.” So bring 

on those 

kawaii ladies

who make

heart shapes

with their hands

that fly through

my mind like

psychadelic

doves. Arm

them with

oozies and

shoot me

with

love.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie (A Story of Passion and Compassion)

15

Andy Warhol seemed

to be onto something

when he said that in

the future we’d all be

famous for 15 minutes.

But what he couldn’t

see back then was the

internet and it’s myriad

mini-media outlets. So

here we are now, hanging

out in a chatroom, or on

someone’s social media

platform, spinning memes,

flashing pics, and revealing

our peccadilloes to the FBI

and the CIA, while some

of us are so insanely

quixotic as to still be

writing poems in this

post-poetic age. And a

a few works here and

there are just as good,

maybe even better,

than most of what

Ginsberg scratched

down on the flexible

remains of once-living

trees.  But just like

those, the lovely young

ladies who once swooned

over love sonnets are

really quite dead. Thus,

write what we might,

we can all hold our

collective breath,

stamp and rant for 15

dead centuries, for all

the Fates care, because

few or none of us is

heading anywhere big,

not even for 15 nano-

seconds. And unless

we’re Asian college

girls with kawaii to

spare, most internet

artists must share this

oblivion, yet with not

much going on in the

so-called real world,

we might as well keep

trying to move those

whom we can. So, Andy,

if you can hear, let me

say that you  would

have been closer-to-

correct to have said

that in the future,

everyone will be

famous with

about 15 fans.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie (A Story of Passion and Compassion) Mail-Order Annie