for the white matter slipping between
us
       sorting itself
to make another way back.

Tell me
       some oratorical satire.

I want to believe you
then laugh at you.

I imagine death is a beginning
     OR anonymity a release

Food and ***
             is all we ever really talk about
money is
                 a quiet thing.

The roaches hide behind the closet.
Cleaning their home
                                 dirties ours even more.

We won't miss these secrets.

Next to you
sunlight echoes
its last breath
forfeiting to touch
our fingers.
What comes next

is not lost.
This fantasy
between us
sits outside
your hardwood door
on my granite floor

lying in the rummage
of papers and voices.
The high notes
and low tides
of our time ran out
like your balding

heart. Maybe
my children will have
mental imbalances as well
I can feel it
trickling in like wearing
black stockings

and padded shackles.
Theres no simpler way
to throw caution
against the wall
and strangle it
to escape the fantasy.

in your womb
the silent
indistinct chatter
and a slow pounding

there are no choices        here        it's
a stifling
pool of ****, saliva, and sweat, dying
to come out

my hands are tied
like my neck
growing while you feed
me. more and more tightly it grows.

now, the air is gone
and the water is fine
the blood red moon
is a clear blue sky

i can hold my breath
and breathe
under water
outside the tomb

Einstein stares at me
I see the blood wars and the blood feuds

The dripping white gold
catches into a tube

Lights are burning beyond December

                                                Beyond December

               I wait behind your curtain
               I wonder at the dark
               I make my cause
               I go the course

                        Tonight has made
                                                  a thousand lights
                                                                         flicker     in my mouth     catching
                                                        each drop
                              
                                                                        of scented hearths

                                                                        Burning ...
                                                                                            burning ...
                                                                                                                               into embers ....

4am isn't too early
for uber or grab
to take my money

24/7 Mcdonald's
an extra cup of coffee
sunlight creeps in

3 teens next to me jam
to South Border and
small talk

1season
too many reasons
pass by

to dance / on uneven
footsteps of our
endeavors / black and white
photos / on others' walls /

our feast / doenjang guk
egg caramel custard
sinampalukang salmon
white wine / from
retail therapy and stress / devour /

i only drink / cheap wine
politicians
celebrities
criminals / i want
less of the more
they show /

i dance
while i wait / share
a mismatched meal with me

when the precipice met
the abyss, they
f
   e
      l
         l
and tunneled into each other.


            losing my religion
            is my creed
            saying nothing out loud
            trying not to try.

i pretend
                    to want
                to have
            to be

i pretend, i pretend.

to tend --
to give attention to
to care for
to wait on

pre -- \before\


                        that is me.

it was winter when i wrote you ;
crags, rocks, trees, were all black
on white and ice --

ice,
it beat on my door --
slivered on the mattress,
sheets of it --
a bedfellow, willing,
eager.

when did the scorpion bring
warm coals to temper the night?
the howl of the moon,
the scorch of the sun --

inside was fire, gurgling.
it was froth and magma.

i heard the tempest, both sea and sky --

faith,
they called
it a rock.
a deep,
black,
rock


in ice.

i look for you under the walls
the silent facebook smiles

plastered on top of my bare skin
are wires counting down... ten... nine...

i think of your smile... eight... seven...
crookedly endearing... six... five... makes me come... four... three...

back to where... two... hide-and-seek... one...
is a game i shouldn't play.

i watch those shows
you mentioned. the ones
about writers and the
lovers of writers.
i sit naked. typing.
the day wears on me, humid

like you. you are

no lover of writers -- poets, even less.
i sit naked, typing because
of you. ******* you
from me. i no longer write
to you. you are no lover
of writers nor poets. i am
unseen. i make do and make it
worthwhile. i am naked. you
are not. it is better this way.
you will pass naked, too
someday.

politics, in love, and war. ambivalent truth. corruption. bonded in blood. tied by fortune.

glass ribbons hold us
cracked open
by the wait

pregnant forces
unchanging tides
effortless needs

beneath a demeanor
i see a hammer
about to fall.

ants crawl in the spaces
between our eyes
they float in vitriol
black on yellow skin
churning in our silence

I've letters of a thousand
summers simmering under
a closet of dust and bones

Night fell with the dewdrops
when single blade grew
into a mighty sword

My lips tasted rust
as the sun rose
as they knew you

you see through me
the way shadows are cast
on the ocean floor

slit between
open mantles
i seep unto you

a dietary
satisfaction of senses
in the midst
of black

it passes through
uninterrupted eureka moments
severing known and not

sometimes
i think of you
all that we are

polarized plasms
refracted by shatters
splinters and shards

in the in-betweens and half-steps
you took me away, into
and out of
the go-getters and lay-lowers

with you, the en-compass-ing
points of origin do not end

so you bring me back
to a beginning.

You find me waxing the floor
with my hands and some spittle.
A mirror of you,
papertrails and clips of words
brush aside gurgles of incoherent thoughts.

Midnight comes too late, bewitching
the deep lines on my face as your
hands wash clear the blood and putridness
of another
                      long,
                                   buried
                                                    day.

wrapped in cotton shrouds
and lake ripples

i looked for that man
a detonator

up five steps
a bottle of petrol
an orchestra of people

where are you? i thought
of nothing else

the red button
a faint tap
keeps playing a morse beat

I fumbled in the night
through the kitchen

thought about
Them

They still don't get it
Each call is an eyeroll

Swimming swimming
through the kitchen
floor, cluttered with receipts,
shoes, a rug.

They whisper a return
a neverland
a never there

twitter
twitter twitter
a parakeet in place

echoes in
a forgotten
crowd

did i tell you how

the little bird sang on

the way down to

the ground?



did i tell you where

the little bird met

the sound of

"thud"?



did i tell you what

happened after

the little bird lay

quiet and

still breathing?



yes. i

still am.

I gave birth to an egg

It cracked on the way out



The pavement is lined

with hunger.

The mighty

is risen.



I gather her up

and wipe her tears.



No horses, no men,

no snakes, no dust,

no king, no queen

come to see me roll away.

there's no sentiment
to express

there's no sense
without utility

there's no point
to feel

convenient emptiness

thanks for nothing

we watch

fluffy clouds
blue black gray

a reflective inferno
fades away

.                      



                       Love, I write
                       you down,
                       send you flying across continents.                    
                  
                           It's a grey-sky dawn.
                           Kowloon bay calls me,      
                           the warmth of an imperfect city.






.

no matter how
often i seek
it is you
who must allow
me to see

The well overflows
floods all things.

My reflection swirls
into the tunnel
swimming in a cul de sac
of wallow, like goldfish
in bowl slime.

i've never been without you, neither
have i felt any real need for you.
you were someone that was there,
you made living (dying?) more comfortable.


then, there was the time that i wanted you. so much
to have you, prove i could have you,
say you're not a big deal. that was the time
i was so angry for not having you,
not being able to get you, not being able to prove
what you are or are not.


i hated you. what it meant not having you.

i can still taste that hatred sometimes.
it tastes like fat. like oil.
deep fried
satisfying
it hits my stomach
absorbs into the intestines
inches its way to those places
separating organs from each other
then seeps to that fine fine space
just under the skin

it sits there, i can't get rid of it
but i want more
that slick, slimey feel on my lips
taste buds tingling for release
until i'm not sure who's devouring what.



i haven't a stitch of you left with me now
im a liar and a thief
and even i being me
wouldn't trust myself if i were someone else.
why should you



a strange thing
to be free with nothing
not even a calculated expectation

outside
everyone despises that

but the taste of it
is like sweet water.

wala naman makapagsasabi, kung kelan matutupad ang tunay na pangarap
    nalalaman mo pa ba kung ano ang binubulong ng puso?
    hinde pa ba ito natatabunan
    ng alaala ng kahapong pinagmulan?

    nais kong umangat mula sa putik na aking minana:
    ambisyon ang umuudyok
    pagkatotoohanin ng kasiyahan, ang bawat layaw ng laman
    na tulak ng mundo
    pabilis nang pabilis ang ikot
    habulin man
    unahan man
    kelangan pagbayarin

    bawat hubog sa atin ng tinaguriang
    collective consciousness
    nang kung sino man matalinong tumawag dyan,
    dyan! mapangahas na pangngalang marangal!

    sino ba ako pag humiwalay ako sa collective consciousness na yan?
    anong napala ko dyan, itinulak ako
    (di kayat, nagpatuak ako?)
    patungo sa isang kanto nyan
    dahil kelangan kong sundin
    ang moralidad
    ang paniniwalang
    gawa-gawa rin lang
    ng aking kapwa

    hinde ko tinatakbuhan
    ang aking
    social responsibility
    na syang dinikta na lipunan
    na dapat akong kumayod at tuparin
    ang oblgasyon ko sa kanya

    no.

    ang tinutukoy ko
    ay ang binubulong
    ng bawat saloobin

    natabunan na ito
    ng sigaw ng damdamin

    sinong makakapagsabi
    kung kelan matutupad ang pangarap?

    ito ba'y aking hahabulin
    pipilitin
    paglalabanan
    sa hilaw na panahon?
    (tulad ng sigaw ng damdamin
    na tumilapon sa akin?)

    ang bulong ng saloobin
    hinuhukay ko pa
    ito'y nasa ilang
    lantang lanta na ako
    binging bingi
    ngunit naririnig ko pa
    sinasakop nya ako
    umaasang bubuhayin ko muli.

Sabungan                                              Cockfight

­Sa pula!                                                  For the red!
Sa puti!                                                   For the white!
Anopaman dumating                          However they come
piliin ang magiting                              choose the valiant
tumaya sa tindig                                   gamble on their carriage
pagpaboran                                           and consider
bawat katunggali.                                 each competitor.

Sumiping sa dilim                                Make love with the dark
at sumigaw                                            and cry
Kristo! Kristo!                                        Christ! Christ!

Panoorin ang laban                              Watch closely the battle
sarsuelang mapanganib                      this dangerous sarsuela
kawatang sumasanib                           a thief takes over
sa aking piling                                      inside.

Sa bawat kong hiyaw,                          Every shriek
ang kada tuka, laslas                            each peck, a slash
nagmula sa dahas                                of ruthlessness and

lumilipana ang daing                           cries all around
dumadaginding ang bagsik                echo ferociousness
bawat laban pilit.                                  of this stilted struggle

Kristo! Kristo!                                       Christ! Christ!
sigaw ng sabungero                             screamed the sabungero
at ako'y tumigil.                                   I stop.

Sa pagpanaw                                        When all is gone
manalo                                                   win
matalo                                                    los­e
walang pareho tumingin                    no one sees evenly
sa aking balahibong                            my feathers
pula at puti                                           of red and white

sa alabok                                               on the surface dust
kumalat                                                 they lay

lumipad                                                 they fly

lumahong taimtim.                             and vanish without a thought.

I will paint a sky
of stars in our room
away

from burdening lights,
fill the road
with laughter
even as
the sun sets behind
a shadowy treeline

The city across the lake
will stay quiet
as ripples
make their way to shore

lather the sand beneath our feet
wiggle our toes
close our eyes
look up

and taste
the scent of manna
everyday for the first time.

it held my arm
and took me
into night, into morning
out of a midnight sun
and into the deadened
deadened stars

and the shutters left a beating
a cold beat, still
still in my heart.

Some winged locusts swarmed in
tender and frayed
scalloped leaves flicked into the ashen wind
sounded, tinkering

tinkering of bluebells
bluebells and dewdrops.
The wind
chimes chiming
through and through

and the dewdrops strayed
strayed onto a path
cobbled and ******

pebbles
rolling in the dust of the moon
into the still
blue

blue-black waters.

A marred mirror of broken glass
and sliver of concrete gusts

gusts the wind
a fury bale
and lights

set in.

I never knew how lonely a man
a man in blue

a blue man

you.

                     Who notices prepositions
                      unless they dangle

                      like earrings
                      begging the spotlight.

                      They act
                      like auditioning extras

                      or photo-bombers.



                       Of the people, for the people, by the people,

                       what does that even mean
                       when we, the people
                       are simply people

                       trying out humanity.



                       My nephew goes blah blah blah,    
                       which is cute and could
                       mean anything when
                       spoken randomly _ an 18-month old,

                       like prepositions
                       _  the people:

                       _ God, we trust.

.

Midday sweeps in
a bronzing fury,

prickling its way
through skin,

pierces the core
to bleed

then, drenched
in affectation,

I turn away
to rest.

I will swathe
some lotion after,

for the scent
of longingness

follows.
A bath awaits.

I

It rained at each night's birth, and I wonder how things never go as we
intended. Each howl is a reminder of how dark it gets as we soldier along
the low visibility from the meconium we dump on ourselves. But we
tunnel our way into that night sky, lapping up any spark and shadow --
teetering between what is and was become us.

It shouldn't matter because it never did, not to you,
not as much as it did to me. That's why the day came to you much earlier,
and yet the rain still poured, murky and no matter how you clean it, it stains

between skin and nails, and that spot where it all begins,
between lung and air. I could breathe it in
and drown out of water.

II

Funny as the rain goes farther away, thunder is heard more distinctly.
Still trying to breathe, that was when you cut us off. One by one,
choking through the daylight at night, while the windows shatter
on the white-tile floor. "Water!

I need water!" someone shouted. It was warm
and cold at the same time, what my insides
were telling me my outsides were feeling. Just then, some semblance
of progression, a rhythm that tethered complacency began
to show. Something made me believe
it isn't suppose to be like this, but nothing
showed me otherwise.

The rain has stopped.

III

Blood and glass litter the once pristine and antiseptic. Shards
get missed, but it doesn't matter. No one talks about those.
It's made for an easy clean-up. It all sounds fishy. The smell
was the problem,

stuck to our hair, our skin, even the fresh linen
covering our nakedness did not escape the memory
of the congealed and spent. Our petrichor
binds us all, until we're not anymore.

.



                              it makes a difference

it rained                                                           one event

as the sun rose                                                the advantage taken

or vise versa                                                    versus

­the genius                                                        the­ one given

is the unknowable                                          is only patched

set up of                                                           depending on

what happens next.                                        the result.

How we string together
     what binds us
     to ourselves

When did we become
     masters? This
     redundant throne

We buy into glory for
     our satsfaction
     then leave

for another slides into
      the seat of our mind.

are not music
or poems
but the breadth
and depth

for the life
of me, they mingle
and linger
on a lonely rooftop

with rain
vibrating through
the wind.

.                                 i am missing
                                  you so much it hurts,


                                 i am ill-
                                 treated and need strength,


                                 i am afraid,
                                 unsure of what to do.


                                you're imagining things,
                                 you said.

Falling flowers
tiptoe into fire,

quelled by rain.

i see that
smile
but separate from my lips

i see those
tears
but not of my eyes

and that
sweat
from brows

not mine
but the voices
pretending to be me

i am perturbed of
the two voices
in my head
so sure of themselves
of where i should go

i tried one way
thought i could
have what i want
resulted in how
the other said i'd be

i went the other way
unable to go fully
and i could not
identify myself
apart from them

Left from center,
outside right,
fringes and gaunt.

The night was mine
alone just as everyone
in doubt and need.

Lingering inside
the day waits for no one
but the fortunate.

Ahead of me,
tentative fingers
seep through.

They tunnel between
dissolving ink,
dispersing the abysmal

trenches of waiting
tides....

I do not see
beyond the might,
yet perceive
more than ought.
The craving of
a learned tale,
ability to carve out
an excuse to crave.

Hail to the conquerors!
Teller of greatness,
earner of sympathy,
foreteller of justice,
bearer of magnanimity.
We survive you.

Hail to the losers!
The day waits for you,
the night delights, passing
thoughts escape into
imagining immaterial
basis of deeds.

Soon, the distance between
falls near and
neither escapes surety.

it makes little difference,

how gold filters the naked and clothed
distinctions. we create

imprints
crafted into more than skin and bone,

move side by side,
jump and fall

down, down, down,
and whittle away.

i mourn
as second skin crawls its way in.

outside, flowers bloom,
fruits rot.

birds, bees, flies, maggots
shed themselves of another day.

unopened letters keep pouring in,
they wait for answers.

pregnant clouds bear down
on migraine and gout.

i breathe
bread, bleach, blood, boredom.

given time,
wine and vinegar grow from the same tree,

and that makes me smile.

Munting hiram na buhay,                             When will this rented
kelan pa yayaon?                                            lifetime pass?
Pina-walang kabuluhan                                Time has taken  
ang oras na lumipas.                                      the sense of things.
Panahon na sinaksi                                         I have witnessed
pawang di akin sarili.                                    what is not mine.

Kelan ang katapusan?                                    When will this end?
Sa oras ng pagtanggap                                   In accepting
ng tinig mo? Irog,                                            your voice? My dear,
ika'y aking kamatayan.                                   you are my death.

Ano ang pinangakong                                    Where is
payapa at galak,                                               peace and joy
kung puso'y sumisikap                                   if the heart still toils
sa inaasahang pangarap?                                towards it's endeavors?

Kelan mabubuksan                                          When will I unlock
ang pagkakataon ng pangakong                    the promise
ligaya mula sa kamay mo?                              from your hands?
Di pa sapat ang pagsunod?                             Is compliance not enough?

Asan na ang hinanap pangarap na ligaya,      Where is happiness
mula sa pawis, pagnanasa?                               sought with sweat and desire
Gawin ang lahat                                                  of risking all                
sa anumang konsekwnsya?                               no matter what?

Sino ako? Taong                                               Who am I? so presumptive
mapangahas sa sariling kalooban,                 of my own will,
ligaw sa ilang,                                                   lost in the wild,
lasing sa layaw,                                                  drunk for indulgence,
lulon sa kadiliman at kawalan.                        drowned into its depths.

ano ako sa Yo?                                                   what am i to You?
yapak.                                                      ­           footprints.
alabok.                                              ­                  dust.
pinag-duraang basura ng lansangan.            garbage spit in the street.

Ginawa mo aking kapalaran,                           You made me thus,
palayok at pinggan.                                           as a clay ***.
Sa yong kagustuhan                                          Transformed and used
tadhanang pupuntahan.                                    for what you forge.

Aking tanggap                                                    I accept
kawalan ng karapatan,                                      lost of rights,
pagsuko ng kalayaan,                                       surrendered freedom,
layag sa kagustuhan,                                         adrift from wants,

yaong kababaan.                                                and lowly.
Paglisan ng sarili, bihag                                    when i abandon myself, as Your
at lingkod mo,                                                      captive and servant
nawa'y malaya sa mundo.                                  may i be free of this world.