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tarma-de May 28
I've forgotten how to speak so
I'll write.  I'll let you go
because you have someone

and you're happy
and you won't think of me.

I'm writing while looking at
your picture. Your smile is
the brightest and I swear this is
one of those times
when I don't lie

and you're happy
and you won't think of me
and you will never know.
the simplest, most honest poem I've ever written.
tarma-de Nov 2018

Im.. im.. impyerno ang nadarama.
Nakabilad sa sikat ng araw. Taya
at buro pa yata.

Sabay na inaabangan:
ang pagkakamali,
at tawag ni inay —
mas importante ang nauna
ngunit parehas nakakatakot.

Sa isip-isip ko:

“Mahulog ka sana,
upang mataya na kita.”

Pero ang ninanais ba ay totoo
o para lamang masalo? Ang puso

at marahil
noon ko rin unang nalaman
ang agwat ng mga platapormang

Malapit ngunit malayo.
Ako'y isa lamang kalaro.
Langit ka; lupa ako.
a tagalog piece written way, way back.
tarma-de Jan 2018
Today I've learned why
some stories have open endings
and how grotesque paintings
cost millions.

Like when I secretly
peeped through the glass
portion of the door
when she was nearing
the end of her routine.

She spun perfectly balanced
with the tip of her toe, eventually
settling in a form
of a bow rose hunter.

It was confusingly stunning.

I couldn't understand
half of what transpired but
I guess that's the whole point.

I get to dream
while she keeps her privacy.
dedicated to a brilliant friend.
tarma-de Feb 2017
1.) Faint scents harmonize
with various forms of language
which mortals find puzzling.

But we’re different, we know how
words wound. It smells like blood,
bittersweet if tasted.

2.) We're building walls around heaven
because we're afraid of needing
things we might be obsessed to.

3.) Others tried to reach the mystical place
above, but were unsuccessful.
They can only do so
when wings don’t prevent them
from falling.

4.) Two worlds prayed for a chance
to break the barrier. It can only happen
when prayers quit needing words.
there's only the infinite and the impatient, the anxious and the ignorant, the silent and the reckless.
tarma-de Feb 2017
The artist itself is the only one
who knows the true meaning
behind his work. We’re free
to speculate but can never be
certain, yet judge.

If the world is a piece of art, then
that would be simultaneously coherent
and messed up.

Everything’s a theory:
its maker, if he’s really out there
in the open, if i’m just seeing things
in a wrong perspective,

or if all of this is even worth
thinking about.
tarma-de Jan 2017
These are pieces taken
from a mind of someone
falling in his own mind.

There are two significant bodies.
As the victim, one was tied
onto a wooden royal chair
while blindfolded; another
with scalpel at hand inflicting cuts,
sculpting flesh as beats
of Pornopop’s ‘Little Kafka’
played in the background.

Chiaroscuro. Lightbulb
in pendulum motion. From a distance,
there’s a bystander who can see
both of them in fluorescent smiles —
curious about the lack of cries
despite the absence of a gag.

Perhaps this is why poems require
too much words.

Here and there: a painting in progress,
an artist, an unidentifiable face on canvas.
You always remind me to forget you so
let me be your masterpiece instead.

And as the beauty of impermanence does
its work, his world fades away.
wounds we frequently justify to stay with the person holding the blade.
tarma-de Jan 2017
Benches as gravity
is to orbits, the only ones
left holding everything

Modern day Copernicus
assigned her to be his
center of attraction
as if revolving around,
in circles repeatedly,
would make the clusters
of shimmering stars
of letters trapped in his mind
burst (being *****,
for he can only say much
when he’s too broken
to remember).

That moment could only
scam people who threw
pennies into fountains,
fail charms acquired
from temples of whatever
belief it teaches, and

stop lungs. Yes, breathing is
just another superstition —
he doesn’t need it to feel
alive, more so when
there’s someone beside him
who’s able to breathe him in.

That in silence, he pleads
his eyes to speak
his heart, but

conversations don’t work that way
with disobedient bodies.
without words.
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