I am unable
more than unable
two parts of me are at war
between getting my feet
cut by the glass
or let my bed be the tomb
Of my dying dust

A dry mouth aches for water
at the kitchen table
barely two meters away
                     I wished to sprout
                     but my body remained
                     horizontal

I reject myself
more than people reject me
an Insect landed on my nose
but I'm supposed to stay grounded

I longed to indulge
every drop of water in the pitcher
someone fetch the liter
but no one is someone
                     those who do not make
                     speech
                     or move an inch
                     help them no mortal

As the bed collapses,
the water
begins to evaporate
leaving
my outstretched arm in the air
yearns for its mist
at last.

A cluster of bubbles floats on the pond;
Sphere of air covered with translucent slime
where a hundred eyes reside just fine
Nesting closely to embrace the familiarity

Not far from a distance above
A tiny leaf swirled off the tree,
It landed silently
on the Bullfrog's spawn
a dancing of lights and laughter
suddenly freezes in time
leaving the leaf rooted to the spot
as the *** of spawn slowly drifts
Forming a hole, until it drowned.

Torn and tousled
by the sticky marble of pity
Oh air, let it come!
so these eggs could finally bump in harmony
Allowing the leaf to slide
into the lightness of an elapsing tide

It is only then
They finally burst in a gentle pop.

Excites me than
the black and white of scenery
that i endured
all day long

It painted
All the ashes of leaves
With the deepest blue it can stroke
Rivers slipping through the shadow
Buildings glisten in the horizon

Blue nights
Allows the veins to collect
All the waters that withered
I welcome them
and let it flow

A boon from the skies
Even in the absence of warm rays
There is one shade that
I could let myself drown,
swim, and
finally make it to shore

Because for only
in the bluest night I could tell
I'm still living.

Tracks of the caterpillar
on the road
carries the weight
that it loads

Clankkk!
Clankkk!

hydraulic press crack
the road
dig further
'til it explodes

laborer's sweat
huddling like brood
daubed his temple
with a calloused hold

Claaank!

bystander's fist
on waist, unfold
clock ran out
turned back, they dissolved

I am no good with words
staring at the ceiling
Finding the right words to
Describe the poem
that i've imagined
one hundred times
in my mind
Coffee in the yellow mug
that is later unfilled,
filled again
to fuel my nerves
Polaroid from the past
Scattered by the train
like a leaves
Too fast, i cannot grasp
Crossed out letters
Crumpled papers
Under my bed
Pendulum tirelessly
spinning
I am a newborn
A baby
Clueless in the world
A tabula rasa
A baby
Clueless in the world
But you,
you are filled with associations
Attached with threads
in any objects
that I laid my eyes on
The tip of your needle
follows me
wherever I go
Pinned me scornfully
on the shallowness
of my bed
Untill I bleed sentences of
how your eyes disappear
when you laugh
or touch your earlobe
when there's a storm
brewing in your mind
The pen is getting smaller
cold coffee
my back aches
paper after paper
The poem in my mind
that i've imagined
one hundred times
In the library,
museum in Manila,
in the grass field where
you pluck the string
of your guitar
while I sat there
and drew
every
form
of your being
One hundred times
in my mind
Remain hidden In
the shadow
Veiled from your gaze
Because I walk on the book
While you thrive on the ground
Would you read me?
I am no good with words

Season dies to welcome the anew
And I witness
How this door begins to rust, collecting dust
Still, I traverse

The sun smiled at me that day
Too bright, it Bestow me some solace
But the door are too grotesque
Too conspicuous, they frightened me

Is it time to unveil what lies within?
To fall into the abyss of inner turmoil
That I've locked into the deepness of my *****
But the moment I transcribed them into words,
It became the truth.

Be honest. Be honest.

Oh, Lily
How beautifully you lie there,
In the curly waves of the river
Golden beams gently touch your skin
As a way to wake the sleeping saint

A trumpet of petals calls me from afar;
It is the only thing that I hear
Blaring in a quiet hearth
Where a name without vowels is engraved
I wander, unaware of its gentle retreat.

I watch it dance
Six needles holding the stamen
Like a surfboard grasping for its life
One more whirl of the winds,
Then it would fall on the carpel's feet.

I sojourned in this garden once;
You might never see me or I might never see you
Let Zeus lurk for Hera's liquid at last
'Till it splashes, stained, and bloom
In every season of my mind.