"emergencies" poems
I want someone
Who can read my eyes
And communicate with them
So that we can share jokes
From across the room
Or alert each other
During emergencies.
I want someone
Who can differentiate my smiles.
Real ones, fake ones
So that even when everyone else
Is fooled,
You won't be.
I need someone
Who can understand
That I'm a complicated,
Contradictory person.
That I may blow hot and cold
But in the end
I'll still love you.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
she liked the color yellow because it calmed her
its brightness soothed her soul
and the sight of a yellow flower
always brought her joy
it illuminated her dark days
and stormy weather
it always seemed to try so hard
to be happy
A quality she could relate to
but one day, she met a boy who liked orange
a color she always said she hated
its hue too close to yellow
but too different to be enjoyed
she never wore the color orange
felt as if it drew attention to her
when she was content enough
to be invisible
in the corner of the room
her favorite color was yellow
and his was orange
but she never liked that color
with its harshness and severity
it reminded her
of traffic cones
and reflector vests
of emergencies
and warning signs
But one day, she realized
he reminded her of the color yellow
he soothed her soul
illuminated her dark days
and calmed her storms
he never seemed to try too hard
but always managed to make her smile
she realized yellow and orange
weren't that different after all
and when the two hues came together
her, perpetually the color yellow
him, forever orange
she felt like the only girl in the room
the colors yellow and orange
started to bleed together
and orange came to remind her
of fallen leaves
and clear sunsets
of butterflies
and sprinkled zest
and in time
as she grew to love him
the color orange started to become
just as beautiful as yellow
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
"I got them old bones man"
There shakin’
And there rattlin’
These demons
I’m battlin’
Time
Is unraveled in
Sin, desperation, disbelief
Misconduct and mischief
Stretching
Feels like a prison camp
For old men
Where all those old men do
Is stretch
My body is a concern as my mind
wanders,
And ponders,
And potentially acts, on
large acts of
greatness
and I bear witness
to future bewilderment
that has already past
but lingers,
and fingers,
the ******* blame
on my ***
I wanna live a life of positive affirmations
That’s what I feel is happenin’ you know what im’ sayin
And I keep playin
Games I love and things that I believe
Goals not yet not accomplished
And new one’s I wanna achieve
And a New year brings new things
Don’t break your dreams
Don’t undervalue and don’t leave
Places you don’t want to be
Don’t be a double negative
Take advantages of openings and opportunities
Don’t be a hypocrite and you will completely agree
All those good things
Your gonna do more of in a new year
No matter how niave, egocentric or misadvised…
… in someone else’s eyes
Have no fear
share your gifts
and create your gifts
don’t buy them,
and if you buy them
don’t buy them at walmart
or in malls or in big cities
Everything I ever wish to write
Is an anthem to change the world
And the revolution starts
As soon as I change
As soon as I arrange my priorities
**** the majority
Start a brother/sister sorority,
And I will put down this beer,
Quit a job that doesn’t matter
And put my energy
Into passions and emergencies
And change the world
By meditating
Saying some kind words about myself
With my eyes closed
While deeply breathing
And exploring galaxies with ease
The entire universe…
… I think I Am going back to university
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
The tangerine stained race track
spread across our **** carpet, a turn
by the wooden bed frame, a loop
near the five piece drum set.
My brother’s fingertips gripped a Hot Wheel
by its rear end, its rubber wheels
greeting the track, propelling it forward,
launching it into another plastic vehicle,
and Crash.
I nursed the toy cars through emergencies,
playing doctor to replace cracked windshields
and torn plastic bumpers, victims
of one too many collisions. It alarmed me
how easily the 1976 Mustang could lose its wheel,
sending it spinning like a dreidel while my brother grinned
with splintered teeth, feeling nothing.
The car survived the impact, but people
don’t always walk away from accidents. They can’t be raised
on jack stands and tinkered with. The operation table,
home to drivers with fluttering heartbeats,
can hum to the deafening beat of a flat-line monitor.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
You don't see me coming yet,
but I have already cleared a drawer for you in my heart.
Our first argument will be about how I hog all the covers in my sleep,
or maybe about how I can never shake away the feeling that I am left
with after a bad dream.
I want you to know that I am other worldly.
Which of course means that I am not from this Earth.
My mind travels to and from other universes and galaxies,
other realms of thought.
But I will try to leave a note reminding you I will return.
For future emergencies-
I keep a bottle of Zoloft in my ***** drawer
and a bottle of wine under the sink.
I am not allowed to take them together.
I hope my episodes won't make you think less of me.
I hope you won't forget the way gravity shifted when we first met.
Tape that memory to the forefront of your mind.
So when I am sobbing uncontrollably about the ending of a movie,
or the last line of a haiku
you will remember why you love me.
And I will do the same for you.
You see, I am not that great at endings.
I am not a person with promising follow through .
I get caught up in the beginning of things,
the middle of things,
the twist and turn
thrashing momentum
of things.
I just can't bare to see it all end.
So when or if it does end,
I ask that you lay me gently down and make your exit swift.
Do not linger by the door frame,
because when you tell me it's over,
that is it.
You don't see me coming yet,
but I want you to know I have had day dreams about our first kiss.
I imagine it like an orchestra inside your chest
and angels begin to sing when you part your lips.
The symphony hits its crescendo when we finally get to the kiss.
You don't see me coming yet,
but soon we will be in love.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
I rode the crested waves
that graced the coptic sea
And crashed into the shores
of North Africa
The water was as warm
The blood hotter still
No one went on living
unless they had the will
You never made a friend
nor aquaintence by the hill
Life was sweet and short
Too easy to be killed
Your best friend was a bottle
A cigarette would do
And in emergencies
a colt 45 was too
We smuggled guns and roses
across the white hot sands and dunes
We bartered in broken languages
while whistling a softer tune
With a third eye looking back
where bullets would fall as rain
On our way to Gibraltar
One dip salute , rev the engine of the plane
There is no water to quench you
To wash away the sins
The waves of guilt run over you
They bring the sharks with fins
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
I saw a program on the telly once
it was about a little girl
my age, I think
or less
she had lost her mum
and right when she was about to find her
the power had shut off
and the telly went dark
I went to find my own mum
I wanted to tell her
about the girl on the telly
but her and daddy were having another row
so I left them alone
I sat in my room instead
with the candle mum had given me
"for emergencies" she said
it was the third time I used it this week
the house was cold
it got like that a lot
when the telly goes dark
and it gets colder when the door swings open
and bangs shut again on it's way closed
she's sitting in bed
my mum is
and she's crying
she says daddy left
like the power on the telly
we moved to an apartment yesterday
mum said it was an adventure
but I have to sleep in the same bed as her
I don't like it much
we sold the telly today
I guess I'll never know
what happened to that little girl
and her lost mum
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Mom and dad never around like that **** was planned out.
Still you never caught me asking for hand outs you would've thought I took the main route by the way I stayed out, always told I wasn't being lady like but where I'm from, being a lady rarely gets you liked.
And the prettier you are the more likely you gotta fight. So I was more focused on getting my hands right than preparing to be a mans wife and that's just real life.
Mom never taught me curtesy dad was never there for emergencies, so I was my only care like urgency.
Now it's about what ya know and if you've heard of me
Heard you can get far if you act accordingly
So now people asking if they can record with me
Before they said poetry? You'll get bored with me. But I figure it's worth a shot then to take the easy way out like the majority. You know what that means I can get rich off a ***** that's on scheme or "modeling" on a pole I'm tryna be your fav rappers next song dream.
Ain't knocking nobody I just got more in store for me. @fvckalexia
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Good morning gorgeous!
You asked me why I broke up with her.
I've been thinking about what to say without sounding
like a disrespectful ****
Like you I've discovered it's easier to figure it out
if you write it down.
You're seeking and respect honesty so here goes.
I could not get you out of my head yesterday
and went to bed thinking about you last night.
I watched Tyson peck at the wood branch in his cage.
He bit me like the one he's named after bit Holyfield.
He loses interest in toys I buy him in minutes.
Reminds me of my ex she was the same way.
She never listened when I spoke and it was like I never did.
I lost patience with her due to her always being late.
Last time I took her out she was an hour late
with no good reason but couldn't decide what to wear.
She was adult but felt like I was involved with a immature kid.
Plus she's impulsive in a bad way.
She used the cards I let her use for emergencies
to gamble online, bought online and hid what she didn't need
and took her friends who were immature like her
out on the town at my expense.
Drove me nuts because she had difficulty paying attention.
Sometimes love isn't enough to over come her kind
of deafness or her thinking it fun to put aluminum
foil in microwaves.
She was the queen of drama and procrastination.
Her place was always disorderly and she swore to me
when we met she was a neat freak.
I don't mind a little daily life messes it happens.
Her chronic lateness made it a last straw.
On the night I was to introduce to my folks
she was late and they left my home without meeting her.
It's been over two years since I ended the misery
of her in my life but she's still bitter.
Unlike you she's stuck in hate mode and will
be there until someone else buys her
lies and manipulations.
Could say more but I believe you will
see the full picture.
I wrote this for you Betty Ponder.
I know you know it's about you. : )
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
The Riddle
One of you has seen my face.
One of you knows where I live.
Stuff. Important stuff,
like the locale of
my hidey-holes.
My email and my
cell disclosed
soon to be
on sale on eBay
for a trifling sum.
So now I must
disburse to parts
more remote,
reappear in a
nouveau identity.
Just a necessary precaution.
Moreover, methinks
you have grown
tired of my waning voice,
waxing ineloquently,
opining too frequently.
feel like a
thick wooly straw
welcome mat,
edges unravelling,
grown raggedy,
roundabout the edges,
or like a
paperback book,
tho well thumbed,
nonetheless,
consigned to the
bye-bye
discard box.
riddle me,
me be the riddle,
when I scribe
under a new
Nom de Plume.
will you recognize,
my signature
hid amidst the
restless words that
still need a home?
are my poems
worthy of a
second glance,
do you predispose
your attentions on
your favorites only,
the newbies squeaking
ignored and unattended,
whose ranks I have
now rejoined?
did you ever meet
a poem
you did not like?
did you ever greet
a poet
with palms
outwardly raised,
saying, no mas,
had enough,
no time for you
and your
clouded clarifications?
need you.
need you to judge me,
without the saddlebags of
predisposition and imposition.
if you need me
just give me a
loud holler
in my sleepy hollow.
tho sadly my
country road,
has listening posts
on the telephone wires,
I will know, when.
you call,
your voice,
I will come,
if you ask,
always.
I'll be riddling
in plain sight,
if you have the taste
for and of me,
you will find me
soon enough.
HOWEVER,
in emergencies
all you need dial,
my digital signature,
911 and
ask for the
Poetry Hotline.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Hanging by the post box red front door
Since 71
A long trench coat, shade of green
With flat cap on top, peak smudged
From fingers that had gripped
Pulled it from a head,
Both, an umbra of post war world gloom
To the boy, now the man who looks at it
Memories contained within its pockets and creases
Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns
Of neatly folded plastic bags,
For the necessary emergencies
He was so convinced he’d meet
Of hands that belonged to the coat,
Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair,
Yet gentle and playful, full of fun
Of the head that wore the cap, the grin,
The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking
As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand
Stories told, of times before the war,
Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle
As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day
Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast
Of showing off, and coming a cropper
And oh, how his Meg laughed
A coat holding so much of the past,
Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne,
Boats that loomed over the houses
Taking this boy to see them launch
Dreaming of exotic, oriental places
He would never visit
Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets
From long gone nags, who caught his eye
Torn envelopes with Megs writing,
Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small)
Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain
A use for his plastic bags,
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
i need this listerine for my bad
breath he said, but i knew better
than to give him a quarter.
he begged me with blue eyes
and every puff we exhaled into
the back bay that grey morning.
i’m here to help
i answered him
and i’ve been there-
at McLean in ART, where the girls
didn’t like me cause my music
was a trigger. but
i pulled through, sometimes
on my own, with help
from a court appointed drug group
(even though i carpooled
every wednesday in a baked
out mini van).
i’m here because day after day
i dragged my spinning
body to the toilet, sun dawning,
to spew bright yellow fluid
into the waiting water.
and i’ve hit the ocean floor:
i used to sniff the bowl to make
the ***** come up faster.
i’d say if i get up again in less than ten
minutes, it’s gonna be a rough day
(but yesterday started this way
and i ended it with a beer
in my hand anyway).
i’m here because when
officer spirito dragged my racing
body through the hallways handcuffed,
because of the purses
missing from the locker room,
i still spent the night on the
closet floor rocking back and
forth, knees to pounding
chest, a hollow
voice on the phone saying i’ll be fine
(but i know that ***** cut
with ether and i’m gonna
need a hospital).
i told my sponsor
i wanna get clean cause
dope is taking my friends one by
one like bowling pins, and i’m lonely
cause all my ex boyfriends
are still locked up
upstate. she just told me
to pray to god
(but everybody knows
that prayer only works
in emergencies).
i’m here because that relapse
my first year of college got me
pretty close to death. i didn’t know
i could puke that far and
the emts didn’t know
a heart could beat that fast.
but **** the past
and **** the future. i can’t
say much about the rest
of my life, but i can
make sure i’m sober the rest
of this night. you can get through
centuries one hour at a time, so
since i know what you want it for
why would i give you that quarter?
no response except a drop
of spit hung from his silver beard
like a pendulum, and the smell
of the chicken i left to cook
too long inside that soup kitchen.
if i didn’t laugh, i would have
cried the whole
time that he said to me
i need this
listerine, baby,
i need listerine
i need this
listerine for my bad
breath.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:11 AM UTC
I have this
theory about
irony, tyranny
and irrational
national emergencies
you see, when
the foul wind
blowing south out
of Washington DC
fails the smell test
but compares well
with, say, ********
cat **** radioactive
batshit contaminants
but, hey, try any
old way, you still can’t
iron any wrinkles out
of the fact that what
lies in the murky bottom
of the Potomac
our leader drinks in
also flow through
the faucets to sink, then
down the ********
of our so-called democracy
and into the lagoon
down on the links
of Mara-a-Lago.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:00 AM UTC
And the girl sits in the corner, staring into nothingness, remembering the signals she misread. She thinks she was a fool to believe that he liked her. She was so full of the Love crap that she closed her eyes to the possibility that maybe the guy was just fooling around. Because of too much expecting, look what happened to her now? She now has this permanent faraway look that suggests that her soul is not in her body. She is so passive that you may think she is a rag doll. She has changed. The once magnet of all things bright and cheerful has turned into the queen of loneliness. Days and weeks pass and still, she remains the same. Her shattered heart remains broken. The guy that’s supposed to fix her left her to fix herself. Her world crumbles as if Atlas is finally giving up because of the weight of all her problems. Her knight in shining armour is no more than a fake pardoner tricking people.
Friends try to reverse the process but to no avail. She is different now. The happening opened her eyes and brought her to a whole new level of experience. For weeks she has been impassive but now, she awakes to find herself looking through the world with a new pair of eyes, she has learned to take that mistake and turn it into a weapon to be used for future emergencies. It gives her strength. It gives her knowledge. It gives her a sense of freedom. To be free from her old naive self and to feel the authority that resides within her. The thirst to redeem herself, her dignity. As she tries to recall everything, an explosion erupts inside of her. And as the old self burns away, a new one, a fierce one is formed from the ashes. The fire that burns inside her turned into a fierce, blue flame; dangerous yet beautiful.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
****** and Energetic
Entagled and Entrapped
Eexplosive and Emergencies
Extremes and Erased
From itself in a sea
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
A lash fell on my cheek,
I stored it away for safe keeping,
In case of emergencies.
Then I could make a wish
In desperate need,
For you to appear before me.
Then I blew it away
Before I could think,
And there you were,
Blinking, blessedly
Who knew,
You,
Who knew,
You,
Could show me,
The ins & outs,
Ins & outs,
The ins & outs,
Of everything?
And I don't want your eyes to fade,
Like the warms winds in May.
But it's time for you to leave,
Leave me be,
Let me be,
Leave me be so ill-conceived,
Only left as a requiem for a dream.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
When the rain is cold and pelting
When the windstorm shreds the trees
Do you find your courage wanting?
Is there weakness in the knees?
Have you faced the dark intruder?
Have you stared that challenge down?
Have you summoned forth the fortitude,
To keep humiliation gowned?
Camouflaged the leaden spinelessness,
That dreaded empty space,
Where once there was a warrior
Who wore courage on his face.
Felt the thrashing of the current
As the waves come pounding in,
Inexorably it lacerates
And tears the fair white skin.
The brutality of bedrock,
The blackness of the night,
And the fear that runs like mercury
Through the torment and the fright.
The uselessness of effort,
The lassitude of limb,
It’s the cramping ague of gutlessness
That is consuming him.
Dissipating storm clouds
The skies begin to clear
And with it go emergencies
And with it goes the fear.
Residually it lingers
As a gnawing hollow blend
Of anxious blue inadequacies,
Of unsubstantiated end
To performance under duress,
Compared to that which is the norm,
It’s just a blinding lack of courage
Whilst in the torment of the storm.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 November 2008
Jan 22, 2010
Jan 22, 2010 at 10:00 AM UTC
We don't drive nowhere without the radio on,
We are too naive to know better,
We are too crass to care,
We have been graves waiting for bodies to fill them, we have been half inscribed tombstones itching for an expiration date, but those days are in the rear view mirror, still just barely visible over the sticker that reads "What Fresh Hell", but we are lucky enough to have forgotten the way back, we have bled out every drop of retreat and we are going to drive all **** night regardless of whether or not we actually get anywhere, we are urgent, we are emergencies that cannot stop at red lights, we are a 911 call away, we are the angry heart of the river illuminated in burning flags and cigarettes and grand halos stretching the distance between bridges, we are Born to Run turned up loud enough to drown out alarm clocks, we are the ****** cataclysm that explodes into a new dawn, we are taking this one hour at a time, we are living like this until it's all ashes floating downstream, hit it again, one more time, in the dead of night, call me an ambulance, I'm not slowing down for anything
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
:
..
....
........
...........
As often as a human's breath,
deadlines and restrictions pop up
simultaneous with emergencies
chores, and necessities...all in a fast
pace, many things are prioritized
...though, most are unnecessary and
occupy precious space in our lives...
everyday, we struggle...silent battles
and tribulations stir the soul...
for some reason, some things cannot
be changed...some people play deaf
and stay the same.....neither could
thoughts towards them, be altered...
sometimes, our ties with useless stuff,
and useless people...need to be severed.
moments come when, we've had enough
..............of rules and regulations.
...................we just get fed up...
life is precious and short.....a part of me
....awaits a break......a cold phase,
.........when all my discontent would freeze
..............when all queasy feelings
...................this fidgeting within,
........................would turn to ice
..............................permanently.....
.......................
...................
.............
.........
......
....
..
.
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(an old unposted poem from 2014)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 7:35 AM UTC
we need a plan
in case of emergencies
and unexpected nightfalls
when the world turns sharp edged
and strange
we need to prepare
for days of pale faces
wet socks
and cold hands
we need to hold each other
and mend each other’s tears
- sowing the untethered buttons back on
we need to let ourselves breathe
when the air is hard to come by
and we need to let go
of stale dreams
that rot away in attic corners
and dusty chests
we need to walk
into the shiny street
wearing nothing
but our best smiles
reserved for Sundays
and first stork nests
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
I went to my last counseling appointment today
and when i stood up to leave
I felt as if I should shake her hand
but instead I walked out that door on tentative fawn legs
I stepped into the cold
and I felt like a stranger to myself
I bought coffee and a pack of cigarettes
and stood by the same ledge I always do
but it didn’t feel the same
I have her card in my front pocket for emergencies only
I feel as if I just stepped into harsh burning sunlight
I feel like there is winter air trapped in my lungs
I've come to the conclusion that
there’s nothing really wrong with me
but there’s nothing all that right either
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
I thought about writing down all the ways you destroyed me but every time I tried I ended up writing my own name.
it's harder to leave the place that's killing you when all of the people you love are there and you think of ways to hold them but they just keep telling you to let go.
let go
let go
you keep forcing yourself to believe you'll be happier that way but really when will you be happy? when will the dark circles under your eyes go away?
when will you forgive yourself for not being there when your brother blew out his birthday candles? when you weren't there to pick up the pieces of your little sister's heart when it was destroyed for the first time, and all the times after that.
he'll say you were different but he drinks whiskey with her too and now your voice always cracks when you call someone else baby. you'll whisper into her hair "honey i'm never going anywhere" but rocks turn into sand and leaves turn into dust and you turn into a memory she won't have the pleasure of forgetting.
I'll count the bruises that cover my stomach and pick out the ones that look most like something you'd apologize for.
I'll convince myself that I only ran back to you because I was homesick. I don't think we fit each other no matter how much I want us to, you were the closest and I'm terrified of what's going to happen after I'm gone.
write down the names of all the lovers that left your hands cold and your eyes red and ask yourself why they're starting to look more like a picture frame and less like the person that never really said goodbye.
start drinking your coffee black because there's always a bitterness on your tongue anyways and scream their name at the walls because they will always listen to you.
we were alcoholics by 16 because the way they looked at you was too suicidal for a child to survive.
the school is so close to the hospital we're starting to feel comfortable with emergencies now.
this is an abandoned tape that keeps repeating itself and I am tired of waiting for someone to find it.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
just a gold grenade passing through the hands
of famous names,
and airport emergencies,
and world war II tom foolery.
when a friend exchanges hate for love,
life makes since.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
Water flows by,
Quietly polite.
Green under sunlight,
Silver at night.
Is that my monarch's head
Shimmering between wakes?
She looks down and kisses Georgian rooftops.
She dives and twists her celestial face.
But as rain falls my monarch distorts,
And in the first snows she poses for me.
And as we celebrate new solstice a hail of thin ankles bruises the water.
Fish dart from them.
Sharp stones bury themselves so as not to offend.
I remember my feet in there...
All the times comes past here.
All the times yet to come.
I cross a bridge and the town's vein is out of sight.
I breathe the smell of ecclesiastical ceremony
And the cut-grass stench of various friendships nurtured and deflowered.
I mimic footprints that I've pounded into the ground.
The same drunk campaign.
I drink the river and become its flavid run-off.
Water flows by,
Timeless in flight.
Not at the front of my mind,
But in sight
As I recross the bridge.
I'm accustomed to its murky silence.
The distant, sporadic car horns.
Avoided emergencies, obnoxious goodbyes.
I hear them all.
I smell fuel emissions and nocturnal suffering.
I taste staling alcohol and summer's fruits.
I see the town that has cradled me.
I pick at its foliage and try to feel something.
I'll remember praying for floodwater.
I'll remember plains and peaks.
I'll remember the wall that can't hold it all.
The long, loud day
And the long, quiet sleep.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 1:40 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