I sleep to feel                                                                          
your touch sway                                              
pendulums.                                                        

                    Images swirl                                                                            
                    in a couldron                                                                          
                    they boil into                                                    
                    mist.

there are things worse than death. death is a release. A culmination
of things, of who you were. i come here to think
of all the things i can be thankful for.

the low lights are drowning the stars tonight.
they push them deeper into the heavens
like a fetus refused its way out.

a plane flies by where birds used to flock.
the sound of sirens and construction
pounding and clicking is acceptable tonight. i can talk to you

and not feel awkward. the crane rotates next to me.
i've never seen one of those when i was young.
workers carry on, laboring for minimum.

the gusts of wind blankets me with a chill. i embrace it.
the freedom of the wind. not knowing where it comes from or where it goes.
it could be you.

i believe
it isn't love
it isn't bad intent
but it is full of the self

it wasn't intended to hurt anyone
or to rule over anyone
greed
and self-preservation
brought fear
and bred anger

it made you do things
and destroy others
enough to bring down
families

you will never know
the terrible consequences
of what you perpetuate
as long as you get
what you want
everything is collateral damage

i can believe
there were no ill
intents
only ill
effects
and

they will come for you.

How to demarcate 
the silence 

behind respect 
vis-a-vis consideration? 

One is taken 
and [ab]used 
the other, reciprocated. 

The blind and blinded 
show their anger, 
make us fools. They 
call us stupid 
and uninitiated 

That is 
how they want us 
to remain. A threat 
to remove.

Little specks of profanities

   c a r v e d     t h r o u g h

       and into my chest.

let's save sanity;

write about
the insanities we
see, think, know,
commit.

it will not last
a lifetime

but can save a life.
​

Poetry is a dog's work,
writing is a phase to lose.

There is no food in principles,
the principle is in the food.

To forge without craftiness,
an utter waste of labor.

History is a fool,
vanity is now.

*There is no recollection.

The word spoken in silence
already is.

she wrote love letters​
    when she was eight. her insides
    were all over.  once, she drank
    a bottle of tears until she drowned.
    but she didn't.
    she breaths in it.

    in the long grass, she walks naked through the strong wind
    as cogon danced against her skin,
    marking her in lace.

    years
    ago, she stopped writing letters.
    she drew her face across the wall
    and stared for hours until she could
    look at herself no more.

    i saw her
    on a rocking chair, singing softly as
    she looks far away. she sings
    the letters she used to write --
    how warm and clear the waters were,
    how gently the breeze whispered.

    she closes her eyes
    to remind herself
    how it is to be kissed for the first time.

"Look what I did!"
proud, eager eyes
that beheld a universe
"What do you think?​"

a glance
buried elsewhere
"It's nothing special.​"
"I did the same when i was your age."

eyes meet
"It's a phase."
and turn away
"You will grow out of it.​"

​
nary a word spoken further.

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.

i lie in this empty box
where sunlight shines through dust

my hand lingers on a knife

i see the alleyway and wait
watch dogs devour their meal

i wait for you to come

i tasted it
i held it

i am

there's no sentiment
to express

there's no sense
without utility

there's no point
to feel

convenient emptiness

thanks for nothing

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.

I want to hold you until a certain time 
of day when the sun lays his head 
on the winter grass, gazing steadily unto you.


We turn our eyes and avert meager glares and 
hoisted brows.
Alas!


What makes this day unlike any other?
The telltale signs of freedom and solitude
whispers
among the dreams and fairytaled wonders we foresaw.

I want to hold you one last time.

-----•○●*●○•----

Look ahead
Buried deep in the ocean's array of waves
Evening passes
The screaming nights

The deep silence 
And the stillness of
This moment
This eternity

Do not fear life
nor death
but being caught in between.

10

She knelt
in the hunger days of youth.
Castrated, *****
and ****** up.

"All in the mind,"
they said
"don't isolate yourself
from the wolves."

One by one
a chunk of flesh
is just a piece of
stolen candy.

"Don't fear us,"
they said.
"We'll keep you alive.
It will be our pleasure."

  20

My thoughts are written
on the side of my head.
Yet, they hide from you.

Under the letters,
your commas and clauses,
your conditions.

Words.
They mean nothing.
Yet everything is seen in them.

Why.
It never ends.
Well.

  30

It went on. This series of
talks. It ails me. 
The cheapness of this
masquerade.

The farce 
is fun to watch. Happy with
this comedy
of silence, and the cold.

Children used to play,
now used for play-- 
like bots,
or chess.

If I didn't have
a God, a heart, a soul,
you'd be happy
with your ghost in a shell.

  40

The legal guy spoke as if
he knew what was right.
Legal is something else.

What do i know.
"You know nothing, John Snow."
is a fine meme for one of us.

I can hear the anger in your tone,
the hysteria rises each time I dont go along
willingly.

When I was a child,
I thought like a child.
How convenient that was for you.

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.

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

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

Our tight ****
holes make
sure everybody gets
their comeuppance.

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 could say...

make love to me
and touch me here...there...
etcetera.

I probably shouldn't.

Some things are better.

twitter
twitter twitter
a parakeet in place

echoes in
a forgotten
crowd

we watch

fluffy clouds
blue black gray

a reflective inferno
fades away

that artist who brings red roses to his mother's front yard everyday.
He stifled a drunken rebellion
in time for us to sleep naked under comets and Jupiter's eye.

I never knew what became of his sister
or his wife.  He makes
the most beautifully haunting music,

the way the tell-tale heart beats under the boards.
I see him in black
against falling snow and a brown path.

No one ever thought to ask him what happened to his neighbor's dog,
or his newly manicured lawn. But there he is
each morning, walking down the street; and we greet.

I sigh each time he bows his head
and tips his fedora to cover his eyes as we pass each other,
hoping to see him again.

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.

We write the truth
What is
What could be
Not what never was

We write in convenience
Kept short
The necessary evil
Cut to the bleeding bones

We write
To hear the listener
To anger the mob
To announce the obvious

.....................

The soothsayer questions
Not the visions
Nor the whispers

The witch doctor
Dances in flames
Ruts in waters

The prophet profits
In times of plenty
In times of war

It's not because i couldnt live without you
I just want
to have those moments
we always talked about
to have closure before you go
to remember you
with a sense of accomplishment
knowing we completed something
i can hang on to.

Im not ready
to go on my own
knowing we started something
not yet full circle

There are worse
things than lack
of your    stuff.

It's difficult, but
all that stuff
you want, really
isn't worth me.