Sapat nang bendisyon
Ang luha sa'yong  mga
Mata upang maging

Karapat-dapat ang mga
Tuyong talulot ng rosas
Na matagal **** ikinubli

Sa aklat niya ng mga tula.
Marahil, lumipas na nga
Ang inyong panahon.

Ngunit ang bawat kataga
Na minsan niyang inialay
Sa'yo ay hiwagang lalang

Ng puso, may ritmo ng
Pagsuyo, may samyo ng
Bagong pangako. Ipako

Man ng oras ang ala-ala't
Alat ng luha na dumadaloy
Sa'yong magkabilang pisngi,

Ang mga talulot na ito'y
Patuloy na magbibihis ng
Bagong pag-asa, lalaya mula sa

Siniphayong ligaya, mananahan
Sa bawat pahina.

Miley** spoke it all.
Her twerking weakens
Wonder but renders

Gender to the stupid
**** generation.
Miley spoke it all.

The West won the
Sino-fantasy, infested
With myth of might,

An apple's bait, all
Has a bite.  The west won.
Wealth as a boon, akin to

Hard ****, faith as
Soft ****. "All that is
Solid melts into air;

All that is holy is profaned."
Marx wrote it all.
Miley spoke it all:

Californication.
Call it fornication.

Panginoon mo ang
Panganorin. Bertud
Ka ng hubad na diwata.

Likhang-isip, halukipkip
Ng wika, pedestal ng
Luha, ikaw itong kalahatan

Ng kasalatan ng unawa't
Awa ng hangal na madla.
Samut-saring anyo't samyo

Ng opyong bumabawi ng
Bait at hinanakit sa buhay
Ngunit masugid na patrong

Naghahasik ng biyaya
Sa anyo ng

bote
pakete
lata
spaghetti
langaw
lumot
bangaw
ipis
lotion
co­ndom
burak
darak
barya
kariton
prosti
sutana
artista
politiko
pul­is
tsismis

                       atbp.

Universe.                                                                
Mankind.

Why there is,

          instead
                  of

There is
          nothing?

The night you left,
You left a part of our
Youth, apart from

What we used to be.
We used to be the
Sunshine seeking

To warm the coldness
Of scars caused by
The boldness of

Summertime.

When the seasons of
Our fate fell from the
Trappings of time,

We once tried to count
The scattered leaves
Left by autumn, and hoped

That these were the lost
Anthems of  our hearts, the
Last hymns of our paradise.

Paradox it was.

But still, we never
Ceased from braving the
Numbing frosts of winter,

Believing in our souls'
Springtime where
Flowers bloom, where

Forever looms.

I sleep on a bed
Of bedlam so I
Can bury the
Past in a pasture

Of dreams—dreaded
Reality of surreal
Reflections, refracted
Into beams and beads

Of droplets, drowning
A memory of innocence.
It remains a turtle-back.
Walking.