Tusam D. Clide

Let your thirst for evergreen be fashionable

Lidi, at first

Slender lures of eternal red
sustained and heightened by
innocent white
the scene so contagious 
flowing and floating
with juvenile aliveness
into ungodly hours

The best shred arising
after a recall of sensation
bloated to
an interminable imagination 

Within eyes’ concrete concealment
the vision canvassed blackfull
the outlandish red 
muffled into blue
far more serene than
a whimsical excellence
of June sky in December

There I sensed
a cool and curious urge
for the imminent second

of her. 

Candace, Empress of Menace of Divergence

-‘A frigid nature inherited a susceptible fate
to be clogged with sludge from own irrevocable attraction’-

Heart remained glassy, but surprisingly untouched
meanwhile, cells of justice, 
neglected by a plenty of coarse dreadfuls
fused into a contemptible attitude
banning all other possible destinies.

Lies, lies from her sultry lips
were honest creatures of trembling kindness
and how sad it was-
Them incapable of gazing further
lingering longer
fathoming just one more
platonic fabric 
of nonchalant hell. 

There was a certain love which
summered her eyes
and blushed the stale core.
But the rare chance fled 
with an awful hustle,
carrying an inflicted ego, starving 
for less a true
for a less dynamic extravaganza. 

the fatigued heiress detested every awkward pleasure of life.
only loved the beautiful digressed from 
all convenient forms of truth.
Hadn’t she been able to enshrine 
how incredulously beautiful
her reflection remained, regardless of mirrors-
the distinguished complication would have
ceased to pain another day through. 

I hear she’s done trying enveloping overwhelming difference.
the uncompromising lavishness walks proud as
one of God’s more obscure gestures,
his penalties toward the bright, dull simpletons 

And tonight I hope- I hope all Their eyes fixate.
I hope she sweeps Their hearts. 
I hope she, tight with herself, robs a small part of the world
and achieve the triumphant soul.

Her beauty sickly mismatched with 
hideous damages of unforgivable history  
deserves to dictate
all Their pain.

Someone’s fate plays a menace 
for your comfortable couch.  

Kiley Wanted: Investigation - The Sturdy Study of Her Outer Barrier

<rare attribution>

I could never condense it to
a single attractive line-
why she was so wanted by 
fair number of fair fellows
-‘There was an appreciated aura, 
opaque radiance of calm and alleviating’-
But that is me placing her in 
the warmer tangent of cabinet
that is me polishing a spot of memory
Now-this is me attributing tonight’s surging lifeness,
the rare monsoon
to her

<Thin Plump>

Exuding seventeen years of small town
a skinny plump with a thin barrier,
white skinnery with freezy brightness,
bound for full-mooning then stretches
in her (very) early twenty 
if she stays-

<Eyes to Smile>

In her eyes random melancholy entrenched
so did rare scatters of empathy
the latter possibly more natural than the former.
Barely witnessed by a distant acquaintance,
her laughter sharpened the edge of nose
thus emasculating her the  boring face.
nonetheless, this girl’s smile was 
as poetic as any vital inspiration. 

<Hair>

Simple and stringent brunette
its length varied at an predictable frequency
of a hometown girl - always
an awkward bit away from the general fixation
a proper glance away from her feasible potential.

<Lips>

Lips seemed meager
but had no tremble to its closedness
-not a front of provisional shyness but
more a stiff hint of susceptible inside
which herself considered
an easy, legible leisure
for a dude packed with
courageous smarts. 

<Spectacles>

Now the general consensus was that her ‘it’ was her chest.
Leaned hefty and classic-Southern on her main building
without convulsing curves and any diverting lures from other tenants.
One must admit the lethal lust induced
by those rather too natural luxuries
defined perfunctory blinks of eyes
helplessly meaningless.
Such a mundane line of cleavage in midst of
the grand spectacles
- infused poignant and unbearable desire
to respect and to transpire
her mild sweetness.

<the fragile shade of conclusion>

but ultimately she was not a brainwashing sight
there were many other classic breasts
with much more contemporary cleavages,
served with more fashionable aliveness
and wrappings.
Perhaps hers was most down to earth
down to the gravel lanes of our pathetic egos. 
 
She was an ordinary girl, headed for an ordinary sort,
singing along to Allison Crowe on the way back from work
in an used vague brown 2004 Buick she was so proud of. 
She dated fairly balanced portion small town quirks-
some of them, my friends, and I asked them Why-
They would sigh a tiny realm of the deepest ponder
and draw a cool yet dithering mean of I-don’t-know.

<Voice>

And I loved her voice and one day
I will dedicate a writing to it.
But not on here, because this is me sectioning 
Why us, me and other poor souls
wanted Kiley
simple and absolute- 
 
 
 
 
 

Inceptember

I want to curb it if I could.
Curb this meticulous heart distinguishing
every romance at an unprecedented pattern
Heart so perched for a new unflagging quagmire
yet heart so proud of frantic steadfast
reluctant then suddenly
ambitious to be cordially invited
by an impossible fire.
Nevertheless, its barren comments
on my barren longings
its indulgent partaking in my indulgent distaste

I want to curb it, send it beside the lunar
being besieged by stellars, beaming lavish glances
on every effusive loneliness.
Let it be sunk deeper and deeper
into the distinguished atmosphere of September.

Yes- September, I shall blame it on September.
The month of bereaved passion,
permeable lyrics and pretentious gestures
September- still radiant with green rays-
but one must have heard an intangible rehearsal of 
opulent red and stark yellow ballading into pliable orange-
delicate inception of stubborn perversion.

The very month when Summer damn falls in an
impetuous and graphical love with Fall
only after a breeze of lightheading flirtation. 

I want to curb it if I could but instead 
I write unread letters
I read black and white novels
I sit numbing the fingers 
I stay wearing a dim shadow
a bit red and a bit yellow,
waiting for this month of remember
the first pawn of December

to be marked 
then on and on

to the next near-end.
 

Henry in China Skiing

An eyesore to proliferation of all his abhorrence
a drunk prodigy squatted a dandy slice of proud eternity
Pouring one glitch after another
on a glass of Hollywood discrepancy
There whiffs of the chagrin once so modern
reinforced more than one wasted posture
There he chatted with the higher rundowns,
hosted apparitions of the even better.

Craving insolent gaiety from carving the flat nuisance into
wonderful, wonderful profanity-
his melodrama brutally unzipped a delight
somewhere between
street corner Monroe
and thrice divorced Hepburn

Here we breathe his bad mouth, its wine-drenched moist
midst of it, something that is the sun and the moon
and the love and the lost and the pain.
Here we cover aftermath of ripe hangovers
each note displays the vivid rampage of this hack
How poise it arbitrates between
one’s grayest facet and
the world’s most obstinate dents.

Ultimately - his words guide me into a fine surrender
toxic loophole- steers me off-road
so free from all moral signs
mortal lines-

Bukowski, in his care, once again
I am peacefully separated from
yesterday and tomorrow

Deadly steadfast and selfish with honors. 

summer in bangryung island
as a rok marine

8/12


Twilight resonates lavender
an outlandish pulse
Summer’s last stroke
plucks a timid breeze of August
As the sun tenders an edge to all
phantoms of all the blazed
camouflages one summer night
ashes of the golden pine
too absolute to be two
Rained quite often after
only bottles waltz on the floor
well, there are flowers
and flowers need vase

Regardless of
green and blue
despite of those honest legs
gliding into naked rays of
the prudent Sun

Summer is one tricky play 

for a heart
depicted by love

July Be Late


Sleep pervaded quite early
a rare occasion 
a sleep tantalized
more than a think
even then only five hours
I had to get up quite early
I had things to do
and it’s nice, having things to do
scratching papers without things to do
occasions words fretting, melodies scowling

After things to do
I drank a thick cup of thick coffee

Remains of summer rain obfuscate
the sky of belated July
and that lazy smirk of that sun
vacillates to pervade, no thicker
than a stranger’s greeting

And it’s nice, feeling 2 AM
in eight fifty, dim morning
something is seldom dead here
something is burning comfortable
something is entrenching, all loosened up

Ready to be imposed
, to be rightfully
tired

Sun plunges bloody today.  

Miss Sun Stood

Images of her slid before
the whiskeyed eyes
edged by the riddled mind
Every beauty has its moment
this moment has wings
their feathers, how they emit-
sometimes stun a mind
so fringe
that
-if lucky-
one witnesses 
a birth of an emotion

Those eyes fathoming
faltering cells of my skin
the balance of her physics
spilling the fable of fascinating lust

had this fool doubting
his ego’s levity
soul’s suavity
heart’s guarantee 

Now my moments float
extended by her beauty 

by every moments of it. 
 

Tusam D. Clide, 2014 
17 Days of SummerPhotographed by Soony Seo, My Madre

0623 - 0709
Military Vacation Days

with tremendous love received

Over.

Early in The Morning by James Vincent McMorrowDidn&#8217;t really expect this album to be the one placates my restless steps beaming throughthe limited freedom I had during this vacationmany hours of the allowed timegone being wild then wilder then pushing hardermany hours spent wasted and rushed but I dare assume thatunderneath all the hectic and plausible clouds something fragile yet comfortingly steadyhas been paving its presenceon the bottom of this soul&#8217;s levityalive and dryover and overalive and dryover and overthat is why this album has been on my earsbecause it talks to the shivering underneathwithout digging the sand of indulging youthThank you, Vincent. 

Lukas-Yohan-Josh, 2014 Summer

SK man, he is- 
he was so embarrassed 
of his younger brothers 
heh-

Evelyn Yoon, &B, 2014 Summer

2014 The Bottom Bookshelf