Behave, my heart
you skip, jolt,
race
catching up with
the speed of light
you and your
weak faith, and
your strong
predilection towards
fear and worry

You are ferocious,
unrelenting
both quick and false
bitter and
remorseful
believing and
disbelieving
polarizing
hypocritical
and sad

running,
always
running away
stealing my breath
away

God is engineering
your every beat
He owns you
You are borrowed from
Him

So go on, heart,
do what you want,
bolt,
gallop,
fly,
and sprint.

But be joyous
in your every erratic,
wild beat.
And only pump life
and faith
and wisdom.

The wobbly love bits
woke up when the morning is
still fogged by cold purple-hued
freshness

She covers her face
but reveals those baby eyes
to follow you with
mirthful wonder
and she flails her wobbly fingers
and wobbly arms
with playful waves
and her mother
takes away her blankie
And she is dressed in
blue, and that sort of
beauty all crammed inside
that little brand new human being
can be quite
overwhelming

Her few feather hairs
and happiness-crinkling eyes
and mouth in a laughing sort of circle
and her invisible neck
and super puff-loved
cheeks
And love-hearts
fill the air
and spread joy
though your bones
and nerves
like warm sunshine
that melts
yesterday's despair
and dissipates
all the tiny
agonies
within
her radius.

-To Alice
Jan 7, 2016

I am stalking you
You are drinking at night
and wallowing
and being swept away
in your melancholic
celebrated novel

The words
you wanted to savor
roll in your tongue
and taste
every
bit down to
its last literary
drop

But you're speed-reading
because on Friday
I will demand the book from
you

And maybe that's
why you needed
a drink
To cope with
the rush
the blur
of the bullet train
of brilliance
And it's making
you dizzy
teary eyed
impervious
delirious
depressed

And pausing
only to listen
to, and cry
over,
The Magnetic Field's
"Why I Cry"

I am sorry
I just want to
read
what you're reading
And feel your love and wrath
in my bones

I know you want to go
to New Zealand
And/or
Japan
I want to go to Peru.
Or any place
with string lights
And a cinema
and stacks
of dog-eared
gems
With you

And I want to
take a black and white
picture of you
in New York
Where we'll crowd
the sky
with our laughter
and
agony

One Friday night
You sat across from me.
Counting your change.
Unfurling old and new
bills
gathering them
Into neat stacks.
Brows furrowed.

You ordered these bacon-and-cheese wraps
For both of us
Which we agreed
Tasted like salt.
Salt and texture.

Look at me,

Wiping away dust from the laptop

With my fingers

Sullen

Chipping away at

My cheap nail polish

Hollow

Blank

The Days

Longer

Perturbed

You are twenty days late
In your response
Who do you think you are?
That I’d jump at your thumbspeak?

It was a passing thing

Thinking about you now
With your flecked baldness
Your Cheshire cat teeth
Glowing against
Your ***** black skin

Your disease
A foul smell
In the arid air

The long stretch
Of your tawny arms
That once carried
The weight
Of your insecurities

Your sweaty palms
Like milk
The sweat
In your back

Your unpunctuated sentences
And your shallow joys…

You are twenty days late
But you’ve lost me
On the fourth day

I thought I saw your ghost
Plowing the fields
Of white, dead hair

I saw you sitting there
Your luminescent
Grey orbs
Seeing something
I couldn’t see

I thought I saw your ghost
Waiting for me
Outside the bathroom door
Your quiet feet
On the quiet floor
Your grey paw
Come a-calling

Let it rain ice

That will melt

Against the nape

Of my neck


Fountain

Cold and sharp rushing inside


Then blanket me

With Your snow

Black

Swirl of indigo

Specks of purple

And explosion of blue


A nebula of pain

Sensitive flesh

Angry red stars

Don’t step

On my line

Tis the second
daylight of
the Seven

Crushed. Deplore
As I explore
The first
Daylight

and the last of the previous
Seven
That two daylights
…a plethora of speech and papers

A heart-wrenching chronicle.

‘Tis Monday
The Day of Side Effects.

At that hour of 21

in hard rain

I let you kiss me

and corner me

with your passion

And you thought

the rain will

will wash

our dirt

and bring

redemption

Sometimes

you take me back

to that Black space

of water rising

filling my lungs

Of solitary planes

and wandering cats

and dead flowers

Gravity

I've fallen into

a deep pit of

displaced feelings

Blanketed

by your

superficial attention

Pieces of me

cling to your entirety

I am vacuumed

into the tight hole

filled with you...

******* the life out of me

Incapacitated

Floored

Consumed

Taking off something from my hair
Feeling the fabric of my skirt
Wearing my eyeglasses
Touching my arm and
looking for that
invisible
tumor
His own fabric
against my knees
My heart on my eyes
inside my open palms
The marks of his fingers
stay

Was I the victim
of your desire

Or were you the victim
of my loneliness

that you...we
went beyond
that invisible line
of fear
and ended up safe, anyway

I looked for you
looked for the back of
your head
the sight of your hair
Searching for the pain
the sickening loss

But you hid
among the sea of believers

Outside
You might have seen
the Red moving
against the rain

The diamond studs
shining, eyes
cast down

Or maybe not

It all started when
in a drab, gray monotony
That vicious cycle of
sameness

You interrupted
You were a rainbow

And you took me away
to an oasis
where I plunged
without thinking

And I was a star
spinning
and it
was beautiful
and it killed my spirit

Whisk me away

At night

In the blue sky

In your bright yellow car



We will speed along the empty

Highway

Where stars and bright airplane wingtips

And shooting comets

Will decorate the heavens



And we will listen to

Random country music

While you talk

And you listen to me

And I will never come

Back

Never come back

Because you will take

Me home

I always envision you
In the mountains
across the sea
In a silent retreat

You left a few years ago
Homeward bound
I am in a city
You are spreadeagled on the sand
Under the stars

You think about me
I think about you

One night the world was being ravaged by a storm
You were someplace else
Dark
Cold
"Do not ride the boat home", I said.
We were up all night
Thumbspeak
Black
Pitch-black
I could see you
In the flame of my matchstick
I could even hear your laughter
My heart was being ravaged by the storm
You were my anchor.

You swam the sparkling seas
Your iridescent skin
And I wish I was there
You said you wish I was there

"I am getting thin," you said.
Thumbspeak,
I could hear your labored breathing

I could see you climb the mountains
I could see you bathing in the sun
I could hear you preach
I could see you staring at the night sky
Could see your eyelashes across the universe

"Goodnight"
"Goodnight"

Then you cut off
Thinking I cut off

Summer
Rain
Summer
Time has passed

August. September. October. November. December. January. February. March. April.

We stare up at the clouds

"Isugba"
What?
"Inihaw"

"I missed you."

"I missed you."

"No, you did not"
"I did."
"Why?"
"You stopped speaking to me"
"No, you stopped speaking to me"
"I missed you."

I could clearly see you again
In the flame of my matchstick
Against the sun
In the rain
In the dark
In the wind

I was there with you again
Counting the stars
Swimming the seas
And climbing the mountains
And preaching
And soaring in the sky
And tasting the salt of the seawater
And plunging the depths of the sea
of your soul
of your heart


I am now anchored.

There are ants everywhere
On my bed
In the kitchen
In my head
In my soul
Or hidden
In the corners
Hiding in filthy and clean holes
Watching
Waiting
And then appearing
In silent unbreakable trails
Swarming in chaos
Tumbling, defensive
Then gets back
In a straight disturbing line
Unprepossessing
Always hungry
Always unkillable

I followed him
watching my feet
following his,
evading puddles
of an early monsoon
I said, yey
He said, yey
And with that telltale
monosyllabic
guise
Our mutual
feelings
were acknowledged.
We like each other.

He walked
down the lonely road
with his cigarette in
between his pursed,
punitive lips
The ambers burning
glowing in the dark
His hands in his pockets
His steps uninterrupting
the silence of the night
He walked until
He appeared
in our street
His figure
growing, nearing
And he finally stopped
in front of me
and took
one last drag
of his dying cigarette

You snatched my guard.

my skin.

leaving me flayed.

The slightest touch

of breeze

Explosion

of pain.

Sour drinks and parochial doilies don’t go together/ My impermanent knee protrudes from the pretentious slash of your jeans/ My hair is the anti-cliche, the counter-perfect, the poofy dry to your flat and mediocre shine/ The sides and crevices turn black within seconds, like marks on my soul, mirroring the hidden cavities of my teeth/ Why do I need a phone when you never call? Why do I brush my teeth when they will eventually fall?/ My blocked nasal is similar to your blocked mind/ Your anger does not affect me, it only kills you/ Her black scrunchie is like the black hole, an entangled abyss against her snowy grandma hair.

I’m the glue that binds us;
when I fall silent, you fall off.
I’m a conversation stirrer.
I’m the conversation ender.

I stall
I ignore
I go dilly-dallying
I snooze
I pretend
And then I will
rush
Stress
And fly
Then fall
hard.
My heart
like glass
Quietly
breaking.

Today my sister treated me
Yogurt topped with fresh strawberries
and chocolate caviar.

We walked in the midday rain
that fell sideways
Shielded ourselves
with her red-and-white polka dot umbrella.

And the line was long
for donuts
Donuts that I
never cared
about.

And she brought
her blueberry-almond
yogurt.
And my strawberry-chocolate caviar
to our small round table.

And the sun suddenly shined
like summer.

And the line outside
was still long.
But the orange balloons
did not pop
under the watchful
donut sun.

So I turned 32 today.
Penniless birthday,
almost.

Howling rains
woke me up
and I fell back asleep.
And the cat respected my
birthday.
Did not claw my lips like
my usual feline alarm.

The birthday flowers
in the morning
were vivid.
My mother bought them,
deep red and
deep yellow.

I requested
for birthday lunch
my mother’s
home-cooked burgers
and fries sprinkled with
iodized salt.
And I filled myself up
with them hot and crispy
fries
and didn’t care if they
stayed inside my guts
until 2014.

I never really liked cake.
Opted for a dozen original glazed.
Heavenly donuts.
Two of them tumbled down
the escalators.
The first birthday flaw.
Like a bleep in the
grand scheme of
birthday things.

I brought them to a Greek
restaurant.
My mom and dad
and two sisters.
Not really hungry.
Just hungry
for a different taste.

The salad had candied
walnuts among the greens
and the reds.
Progressive Greece.

Then a classic lamb dish.
Classic Greece.
And the waiters
in stuffy white
bellowed a birthday
greeting, dropping the “h”
from my name.
Belted out a non-Grecian
birthday song.
No Grecian dance.

But they gave me
an ice cream treat.
Lighted a solitary
blue candle, which
balanced on the semi-liquid
hills of vanilla, caramel and
walnuts.
The small ice cream hills
illuminated by
the dancing
birthday light.

Skinhead
super short
military hair
with a strong jawline
jutting out

I saw you
One random
blindingly hot afternoon
In a jeep

I tried to squeeze in
the small space so the two guys
could scoot over

You’re the guy to my right
Reluctant to pass to the driver
my exact change

You sat upright
Your right arm lifted, hand
closed on the security rail

I could only see your profile
Your jawline and Aviators
Mouth set in a deadpan line

Lean, quietly confident
Dressed casually and carefully
Odd eggplant-colored shirt over
whitewashed jeans

You turned slightly,
your nose strong
chin dignified
skin clean, with slight
blemishes of stress
Pretty eyes
That never landed on me

Your lips slightly curved
as if remembering something

You are beautiful
Arrogant-looking
Bored
Worldly

You’re not from here
Not from common places
Not from this wretched community I belong to

Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head,
An inscription was tattooed
at the back of your skull.
Your hair growing, beginning to cover up
the past?
A dangerous past?
New life?
A mere change of look?

Where are you going?
Where are you from?
Why are you taking this route
to and from common places?

What is your agenda
on this high afternoon?

Are you a rockstar?
Are you a poet
A gangster?

Then finally it’s my stop.
I got up and wished you
were following behind
That we have the same destination
Just so I could look at you
in full view

I stepped into
the sad, bright afternoon

Then I turned around
You’re not there

You sped away
To some place
Some life
With your Aviators
And your principles


And it hurt
That I never even
knew what
your tattoo meant