A milestone of life
Was marked last week:
     I wasn't hit
     I aged one week
So, nothing really,
So to speak.
But
In my right ear
Came a humming,
Caused by nothing
     (and this sounds funny)
Yet, the sound is something
Ringing in my ear.
     (but really, more like a humming)
I find solace,
When alone and thinking,
The sound I hear,
Louder than blinking
     (which isn't funny)
Assures me that
My motor's running.

081324

These days, I skipped my morning routines.
No coffee breaks, no late meals.
I lost not just the appetite for food
But also the appetite to mingle and crack some jokes.

So, it’s just me —
And this isolation was so familiar.
Just like the old days of resisting my “tiny self.”
The so-random thoughts don’t even help at all…
I was stuck in this shell and it wasn’t well-curated.

My body aches with the unknown tensions
And so I pulled the strings off my mind,
Stretched out my feet as hard as I can
But inside me was something severe —
Something I hated to encounter.

I speak to my body as I lay down
Turned on my favorite playlist in Spotify
Full of worship instrumental
And empowering podcasts
Calming my soul to take a pause and simply rest.

Goodnight to the bed bugs that bite
As I shake off the fluffy pillows on my feet.
Then I cover myself with a hand-me-down blanket.
The pain was intense
So I had to grab my pills to give myself a lesson.

I used to glide my left hand
Reaching out my French-bulldog
Named after HP’s Luna Lovegood.
But this time, I made her sad for not playing around.

I know, she’s tired of me too
We stared to each other for days
And all I can see was her scared eyes.
Most of the times, she jumps off her feet
But this was no longer the old times — she’s changed.

I went outside to breathe
But it’s like an open freezer to me.
I ***** when I eat and the aching doesn’t stop.
My body’s tired of murmuring her pleads...
I know and I can feel her
But I was not ready to comfort her.

I looked at the mirror with pale face.
Having tons of lippies can’t even paint my lips red.
I overthink when I’m upset
So my past time was to write —
It’s like an explosion of joy, anger, fear…
Did I forget the others from Inside Out?

The inner child within me was turned on,
And how could I stop her?
Should I play hide and seek?
I hope it’s the end game already
But I find this as my quiet place too.

022524

Trusting no one
Coz there’s so much foolishness
In the world
They began to submit themselves with.

People die to live as a must…
But out of the abundance of the hearts
Of the cold-blooded wolves,
Some chose to believe on their own truths.

But I tell you —
That even those truths can all be false.
Can I dare you to believe again?
And to relive the life you’re supposed to nurture?

Coz in this world with noises
Of random gongs and roaring schemes,
A Voice will dare you to believe again
And that Voice is the last Man standing.

After all these many carnivore years
You can call it guilt or you can call it fear
I've made up my mind to decide
I'm going vegan this November time

So I broke down hard and read some books
Heard some tapes on what it took
From veggies steamed to veggies raw
From beans of green to yellow squash

As my nightly dreams were all filled with meat
I pushed back hard with collard greens
But still had no clue of what to do
With a turkey substitute

And that is when a friend came in
Who Tofu's the line at turkey time
So I read more books and heard more tapes
On Tofu fried, boiled, broiled, and baked

Opening up my kitchen to fine cuisine
Minus the best part...that being meat
As I promised myself I can make this work
My Tofurkey would be the finest in edible art

I had bought my Tofu by the pound
Lucky for me it is pliable
As I stretched and pulled and pulled and stretched
Until I had something that looked like a head

With my artistic abilities seriously in doubt
I'm pretty sure what I conjured was the head of a cow
So I pulled and stretched and stretched and pulled
No ones going to call me an abstract fool

As I bring to boil the "Rodin" juices in me
And baste at my skills repeatedly
Where I come up with a turkey, giblets and all
And just for good measure I gobble a turkey call

Of course cooking the thing is another road and
I sadly lost a few in the explosions
When finally scored I invited my friends
Whose friendship with them will take time to mend

Just because a turkey looks like a turkey, don't mean that it is
I'm now learning all this while I clean up the mess
As forks went to the mouths at the very same time
So did the retching along with the crying

But in a month they'll forget this entire sordid ordeal
When they get the invites for my Christmas holiday meal
With my time in the books and tapes I will spend
Looking forward to  Christmas and a delicious soy bean ham

For decades now
We have serenely, blandly,
Had the Huron horizons
To the North.
All colours of clouds,
Bringing shade or rain,
Snow and flora;
And all the shapes of Noah's zoo,
Morph approaching our soft shores
Of sandcastles and tendered fires,
Those milestone from our youth.
Our fresh waters have given much,
And taken more with wailing
For the never returners.
For mothers with terror splashing
Over  faces and maligned hearts and spirits.
The alone times of punishing memories.

the light is so tenderly intense  after the storm,
it fills the dark shapes in between my thoughts &
I feel like playing the squiggle game with your name:
one day you might be Isidor who feels the skin of the air
some days you are Yuriy the great with skyscrapper dreams
what about Luis with soft hands tomorrow?
or Tiago, the tamer of the beast of thought?
I have to mention Maksim too, for maximum of delight in your sight
oh, Alfeu for the images of the unseen passing through you quietly in your sleep, like cosmic rays
Liberio I'll call you for the day of the freedom of speech,
once you've discovered the layers of nothingness
or Noah, the new born into a fresh laughter

my lips feel ****
I a bit vile
I feel decisive
tonight
I'm burning down
the my oh my
Van Gogh's turquoise
inside
self portrait in the wild:
a woman loves to
toast to cloudburst

I think I might
recycle the devil
for poetry's sake,
tonight it smells
of cinnamon,
of flemish paintings