"abeyant" poems
Where do you worship when you've
been exuded
from the fire escapes of every building
that you've ever been blessed inside,
when all the holy skin
you've been revering night after night
comes to a shuddering end
like a life line slipping
out of chafed fingers? Sirens wail
wantonly during the peak of the moon's
reign, and
is it an ambulance or
a body that will salvage you in
your most vulnerable
hour, after
you finish playing the part of the secret anti-hero
and have nothing left to give
but platonic ecstasy? Cheap
lighters
are littered behind your departure
like footprints, but
the useless
manifestos you preach behind every moan
won't ever be forsaken
in your trail of dust and suggestions
of abeyant arson,
because you're just living how
you were born to endure: like a star, burning,
burning, and far away.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
bleak darkness and its measure:
squandering the light
no definitions
no spectral haze
no inhibitions
its onerous labor is one
with me.
live life at the edge of the fall.
holding a hand
fallibly.
live alone, love alone —
these things pulse with strength
in singleness, even the glances
of prying neighbors are sequestered
reduced to sealed shut, hermetic,
no sight or hindsight.
i'll run to where the sunlight is
and wish for the moon, slumber
like a dead log adrift in the current.
buying myself love and selling its pleasures to defunct markets.
trying to repair what is beyond salvation,
trying to amalgamate what is perpetually
scarred, sundered.
clangorous *** of metal, herding jeep
and riotous chariots; mad men fill
the lines waiting for encumbrance,
bardic in the streets of Marilao
hungry for something:
give me a blank piece of paper
and i will try to reinvent the world
with impunity and lostness.
the world gives back such awry stare
and all imperative darkness reigns
supreme, mine are all emergencies
as shadows are succored not,
retained in their caliginous thrones.
living alone
yet not so much alone.
the dog outside does not bark anymore.
the well-placed gnome of stone outside
stares stonily across the thick space.
the nosy neighbor does not meddle
through the rusted ocher grills.
the old moon wanes outside
as the lift of light sways to where
there are no disappearances.
somewhere in the metropolitan there
is a derby of fools and all mirth;
i wish myself there and curse my presence
right then.
work does not fill me anymore,
money does me no good. my soul
bangs the walls and slams the doors
it threatens to leave without auguries,
and demands a new sense of necessity.
tonight, i will go out, drink at a local pub
and crawl towards the ajar door of
my father's car. smoke will caterwaul
the pressing scenes of the vicinities
crumbling at the tremor of clocks;
i will open my dresser and discover
all books dissipated, some naked
in relished pages, others abeyant.
the curtain can fall later,
and the night too, falter evenly
widely spread across the sky.
— all is broken.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
Produced the reduced use of deuced youth as well fall flat on back relapse of a matter oh’ fact there is no reason to bring back the lack of acts that have collapsed as endorse isn’t the course we force the indorsed remorse’s horse it how it sounds from the round about turned down, wrapped around the mound of wound bounds traced as we wish to erase the missed ace am disgraced to waste the space from haste it is misplaced finding grace abducted, while we are interrupted so disruptive all corrupted instructed that we be introduced to a new place to set loose then choose to roost.
Audible is honorable when placed in space of a new disgrace we haste to chase the base relate the mate is gallant, accordant abeyant to reliant now defiant why deny, when have tried to reply the unquestionable supply of high relies reprieved cephalized isn’t the aim to gain the same remains of main stained for blame, have strained the aim of shame to restrain the bargain attain then pass the refrain again the demand to stand on the right hand of man as have banned the uttermost do tend to boast then coast on to deposed what isn’t supposed to mean the most.
Regulate the agitate of will you wait till the proper date to calibrate where we have done, what have become after having won no youth refund underhung rung the reliefs beliefs in this we speak to realize have agonized the civilized tho don’t deprive for now do thrive from abrasive wise isn’t lies relented the dependent to sentence the pendent, abolishment of what was, have turned around the have does, to what wasn’t because of we lock without a knock of shock we stopped and sought to sample of what before couldn’t handle now we have another hand ful to dandle.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Everyone is talking of the storm that is taking our tiny little town
by exactly that
but no one cares to acknowledge the tsunami ambushed within me: dormant and inert
lurking among the seemingly gentle and calming flow
of my bloodstream
that unknowingly kicks up a violent tide of waves amid me
making my DNA an angry arrangement of both too much
and yet not enough
everyone speaks of the flooding rain and the way in which
it is crashing down on their worlds
and smashing aggressively against their windows
preventing them from any means of peace
and ruining the gardens that they so carefully constructed
but no one dares to speak of the downpour imbedded
in the depth and sole of MY roots
and whats planted within the deepest crevices of MY potted bones
and aren't they informed that if they really desire a lack of sleep, restlesss nights and tired, dark eyes
that they can seek that same effect within me?
everyone is speaking in choral unison of fear about the lightening
that is striking and leaving permanent scarification
to forever mark it's territory;
unceasingly imprinting the torment it has made
but aren't they aware that I have battle wounds and stitches
burrowed away in the pit of my entity
and a hospital bill addressed to your name
and I didn't need assistance from the weather for those
but it's fun to watch the flashes light up the sky like God is up there
laughing and taking photographical evidence of the chaos
that he's concocted
and everyone speaks of the thunder like they're so ******* *******
proud that it forcefully voices and shoves it's far too ******* loud opinions down everybody's ******* throats
yet they remain oblivious to the passion that sleeps inside of me,
louder than I can attain a scream
yet it remains silent, abeyant
inside of me roars a sentiment far beyond the knowledge of anything
that will ever even scratch the surface
of the petty grasp of their awareness
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
A demure river converges with the sea and turns into a scepter of intrepidity.
My eyes try to follow every ebbing wave into the strands of illimitable resurrection.
The wind carries the clouds toward a ruffled terrain and turns sunshine into rain.
Reckless movements seem to convey the act of solicitous tenderness.
A forsaken lighthouse on a deserted island tries to revitalize the ship that never arrived.
The enlightenment seems to brighten up its separateness
From the world of decreasing congeniality.
The resplendent pasture seems to absorb the colour from the verdant trees.
Scintillating dewdrops variegate the cusp of the grass like an exhilarating crown.
The inaudible murmur of pastoral life wraps the passing day in its tranquil impeccability.
The lucent stars seem to burn the vacuousness of night with its satiating fire.
Nature seems to have become the harbinger of my lost words
That long ago manifested my dauntless but wretched love for you.
The uncanny omnipresence of the unbarred memories seems to amalgamate
The unreciprocated past and the abeyant present.
Stirring thoughts in an invigorating mind seem to lose its scrupulousness
In the midst of these harrowing days of ruthless truthfulness.
The metaphors of nature seem to have juxtaposed with the feeble pieces of my fragile heart.
The ineradicable retrospection of moon-sharing nights seem to have emerged
From the irreducible darkness around me.
The twinkling shadows of inseparable hearts seem to converge
Into the enticing hills of the unlit valley.
The honest moon seems to have lost its sagaciousness in the night of relinquished lovers.
The closing day is enamored of the festering odor of onrushing annihilation.
The transcendental road to salvation merges into the heath of transcalent despondency.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
It was as though I was afraid of living. I feared loving and being loved and when there was no one left and I was truly alone that this safe space became a bottomless vacuum, suffocating and toxic.
I was unsettled and anxious, caped and wrapped beneath the vast morning sky. And like a parable the dark clouds came and shifted at incredible speed before my eyes. It was as though the sun filtered past my lashes and through my mind, I was conscious and tingly warm.
I looked around at people bustling through the streets and suddenly I was dragged and pulled at. Strangely I wasn't screaming aloud but it was her that I heard, the girl who relentlessly banged on the walls of my quiescent heart.
And as I closed my eyes I returned into a construed box, sealed by my bare hands.
I was naked and ***** with fire in my eyes and nothing to my name.
The frustration built, temptation sung like a lullaby by the strongest of the Sirens. I was within and beside myself, lost in an aphotic wonderland, sitting beneath a tree neither in rest nor resignation but with indolence and disgust.
Help me, help me, help me I screamed but my body stayed abeyant as though waiting to be relieved by the death I knew I wouldn't be welcomed by.
The conflict within me rose and like an infant frustrated by a hat I tore at my body and soul.
I was awoken.
I was naked.
With scars, bruises, sins and nothing else but foam to my name.
So help me God, give me the strength and will to move. So help me God, give me the determination and motivation to live. Help me, I cry, lying in the same corner from the day before.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
awaking in the middle
of an early walk
it matters not
what I do today
it matters not
if any thing matters perennially
in intent or outcome
worth not a while -
for the leaves golden
just below
an autumn september expanse
of still steel light
and my lungs get filled
to capacity with life itself
three strides - in inhale
exceeding walking meditation -
walking rumination
meager wisdom illume
that today's matters
are too wonderful for me to understand
and so
I understand it all
competently, completely
as the bishop knew jean valjean
as the universe knows a seed
with each abeyant breath
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
dark inwoven vision seeking clear,
pure — smiths a dagger.
when you told me
some are the abeyant,
in that terse communal,
some out
of print
Radio
Body English
Silent Radio's
writing of an english
Body cursive and lithe
i arranged all things:
TV, escritoire, left a place for
a machine, drone of minutes
and the fixed gore of absence
all wounds avulse, words
to wring realm of bones.
image of men is no huddled God
in the synagogue pew;
this is the distinct cadence of
the indescribably beautiful:
when words continue to bleed
they will never go out of print
and they will mint something in the soul
without a word, or a gesture,
or an insignia of attendance.
their benign dreams prowl
upstream,
your dreams,
i willingly go, rising, falling
riding all the darkness.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
Pulling the curtains
down on today
Shutting the windows
doors locked from the street
Putting the cat out
trouble abeyant
My house becomes quiet
—the past is asleep
(Dreamsleep: Ocotber, 2023)
Nov 1, 2023
Nov 1, 2023 at 10:40 AM UTC
My girlfriend has a girlfriend
as pigeons flee the roost
Pronouns crying God knows what
knots are coming loose
I was my girlfriend’s boyfriend
when lines unblurred defined
My love abeyant, Limbo’s child
—left here misaligned
(Villanova University: June, 2022)
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 8:14 PM UTC