It's getting harder to wake up alone
I know we don't sleep so well
in each others beds
But for every moment
I wake up to you smiling at me
as you do in the morning
when the sun strike our faces
I'd give all my sleep
just to feel that precious

I can no longer write
what must come out now is feeling
No words just color, line and texture.

A seed
A son
He grows
He flowers
He blossoms
He bears his fruit

"See ya mum, dad! I'm off out for a drive!"
"No drinking flower!"
"Nah, just fruit juice!"

The fruit has fallen
It has ripened
It has over ripened
It has brewed and stewed as it matured
His fruit is strong
It's confidence intoxicating

"Last one mate!"
"Sneaky 3 and drive"
"Get em in then!"

More fruit

The tree, beautiful, flowers everywhere
Bountiful fruit
But the fruit is un ripened not ready to fall
Don't shake the tree

Crash
The tree shakes
The fruit falls
The petals fall from the flower

No more fruit now, it is rotting
Just flowers on a lamp post dying in the sun
Bearing a note saying
"We will always love you flower,
Sleep well,
Mum and Dad"

Your love is addicting –
like…
******* in my beard
on a Tuesday night.

Teach me to see
as an infant:
I need everything to be
for the first time again.

I want to watch you bleed –
into the subtext and margins
of my notebook
so we can dispense with the periods.

Your sweat is bitter
like dreams deferred,
but I still long to lick
your mind and taste your voice.

“Being a farmer is like being a priest;
you take a vow of poverty
and make a pact with the Lord
that no typhoon will come
and destroy your crops.”

In the rise of sedentary human civilization,
The nation’s agriculture
Became the key expansion.

Its history dates back thousands of years,
With its development,
Has been driven and defined –
By different climates, cultures, and technologies.

The Filipino farmers:
Are they now a dying breed?

Numbers of small farms has dwindled,
With workers opting for city life.
But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity!
Yes, in an import-dependent country –
Already struggling to meet current food demand.

In the face of growing losses,
And from volatile weather,
To new-fangled farming tech,
Limited education makes them less receptive.

What took such toll on the agricultural sector?
Maybe the farmer themselves,
The investors, the buyers – maybe.
Now, it’s due to the government policies,
Our programs are good, yet so weak.
There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports,
And corruption on the upper level.

Compounding the problem
Is a younger generation –
Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide,
And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers.

They say it’s too late to do something;
But the mind-set of the younger generation
Still we can change
And make farming appealing once again.

(9/8/13 @xirlleelang)

She took off her dress. She had long black hair, a pale face, slanted
green eyes, greener than the sea. She was beautifully formed, with high
*******, long legs, a stylized body. She knew how to swim better than any
other woman on the island. She slid into the water and began her long easy
strokes towards Evelyn.*
Anais Nin, Mallorca

Letter from Anais Nin To Sean


Every stroke is like the foundation
of Adam you pound and twist.
Make your **** shift from inner
to outer space. That way when you lift
you are not empty, while the air
above your *** has a crisp outline
--movements down inner thigh
easy to sway, a lilt almost, dark
reservoir where you are satisfied
before it happens, as you wait
anticipating that several blink.


Letter from Sean to Anais

When i kiss, my lips are tender and nibble
and my breath sweet can be heard in
that autumn forest as a river runs
down your spine; you are a mouth that licks
the back of my hand nibbling on my fingers
while I find the crease of your *****
and liberate the edges. You're a lovely,
fertile reef where impossible swans
hold my **** within the fireworks
spoken as light storms remember
the reflected grace of your mouth
and eyes when we stare into that abyss
that never stops so wonderful ***
rides our back to an ancient sea
forgotten when the tide pools break.


2. Anais

She had long black hair and when she spoke
the hair covered her eyes, and you cleared them
by brushing the strands back, slipping your ideal
into her mouth, her long legs drawn against your
anticipation of some deep distress when you finish
later, a great shark of a ship hunting the strokes,
spliting the pearl clam open with your
simple breathing foaming hurricanes,
when they reach half-way suddenly still --
the anchor falls through the splash
raging down our street released
to an undetermined depth.

The wind wears your body;
I open the curtains of your being,
My touch wears your skin,
The spectre of your silhouette
Is a ghost of my desire:

We tear the night apart.

Our humanity does not lie in our goodness,
but rather it exists within our flaws,
for it's our flaws that make us interesting,
and it was because of this that I found
my aunt to be the most interesting person in the world;
for she was flawed in the most exquisite ways.

She was nothing short of a legend in my family.
Her deeds were not spoken of in day-light,
but whispered about late evenings
amidst closely clustered kitchen tables.

I remember hearing lurid tales:
she's been married twenty times -
she's been arrested before -
she's knocked out a boy's front teeth.

I never knew if these tales were true or not,
and I hope to never find out either.

I'll believe them; I'll believe in HER -
as she believed in me before:
as she believed in love and excess.
We talked shortly before her death,
What good is a life without regrets?