Poetry by Brandon Lo

Edited by Michelle Padilla & Saima Sarwar

Media Arts A

the war begins as it always does
a sliver of silver, shot from one black box brain at another
and we trust that single bullet to carry our grievances
as if anything so complex as joy and hate and human nature
(and those three we both share) could be communicated in one word

but love is war
isn’t it?

so viva la revolution
and if you are an empire then let me be the tiny disorganized rebels, 
nailing my meaningless essays to your garrison walls
striking methodically in the hopes you will see a pattern that screams 
“listen to me, look at me!” 
recognize the war I am bringing to your doorstep

but no, this insurgency is a passing phase
and you play it non-committal,
entertaining a slice of chaos to keep the troops sharp
“how cute,” you must think 
as if I am nothing more than target practice

still you returned my essays by the eventide lamplight, didn’t you?
my first equal, reading without pity or guilt
or the truth that I am an annoyance to be dismissed

surely it all must count for something 
(or nothing)

---

Media Arts Spring Break

your texts
intoxicating infection

a requiem for cough syrup 
acetaminophen overdose,
choking down limitless literature
just to impress you:

Kafka is lonely on the Shore
& I am only halfway through his journey
so forgive me, I know not how it will end—

you laugh
my panic influenza

but who cares?
we clink silver rings
in soft dusty light
drunk on dissonance

Japantown opens summer jobs
& I want the commute
for your handmade onigiri

‘mata ne’
you should say

make my arrivederci
last fornever
defying mythology
I the god of doorways

& beginnings & endings
Janus, ending beginnings
and I, born in January

cannot see straight
I want you to read me

the texts of a dopesick heart
spiral-ring notebooks
green bubble messages
of mutual bibliophilia

—but this liminal fever triumphs first
& I offer you my key
a gateway to shared delirium

you said yes but
I never got your birthday

---

Media Arts B

it took me four years to drink again.

four years! that’s a long time
for someone who was barely sixteen
but i tasted a vodka called hope
that epidemic you brought into my bedroom

and did you know?
that i learned how to tell a joke
in the foreign language 
of another person’s heart

and do you remember?
              when we  h i t  t h e  w a l l

edge of the timeline 
on a pirated Premiere Pro
uneditable unparalleled imperiled

so if i can be presumptuous
maybe we were both Holden
dream-catching the moments where our trust had a purpose
but you awoke first

              and i was left with the  l o v e – s i c k  c o r r u p t e d  f o o t a g e

of a ring in my hand come September, wondering
have we both ended happy?

im sorry
i got drunk for the first time
              and i wish you were here to see it.

---

Artist Statement: The Media Arts Series is about different fragments of loss, passion, and closure, and is my honest attempt to quantify a disillusioned perspective of love as it heals over time. For any reader expecting a silver bullet to forgiveness, either for yourself or for one who has hurt you, I apologize, for I cannot give you it here. All people mend differently. My only advice is to be gentle with yourself; the rest may come naturally.

This piece is also a collage of unspoken emotions for a person who once hurt me. To that person, should you ever read this: I hope you are doing well.