Lord:

no bequest requested.
no grant, no teach,
no need or greed asked
just a hey listen up,
if your attention is elsewhere

this is an
all-on-my-own
prayer that
my eyes only utter,
my tongue,
self-silenced,
can only watch
and must approve

in fact,
this is more
of a post
than a prayer,
updating you
on the state
of what we Earth temporaries
call the heart, mind, soul
and even our,
your-designed
crafted carrier,
my body

Mine enemies call me
cursed, embittered,
they are right - but fools,
they are
so much more than wrong,
for in this they err grievous,
for they cannot see their own
bile provisioning their end

ask for no interference
from the sidelines
neither from the
sapphire mother sky
that raised me up gloriously
this morning

nor the emerald earth
that this day
both gives and gets
common bounty
gives me sustenance,
as much spiritual
as grained cereal delights

lest you think this
just one more
me-centric rants,
let us recall this prayer,
is his very own,
prayer of gratitude

woman's head
rests on my chest,
her blonde highlights,
highlight our bed
and our
life

take and tuck her tresses
from eyes and forehead,
gentle them into place,
behind her ear,
and my hand journeys on
to the skin,
flesh of her backbone,
where my fingers
spread wide,
five messengers unique,
advising all of the 120 provinces of her
heart, mind, soul and body,
she is my beloved,
and I pray,
I am hers

learning still to
live with my means,
such as they are,
sometime mean,
sometimes extraordinaire

even this skill,
to express

is a gratitude
that though
comes and goes
like summer breezes
that as now we pray,
cools my AM coffee
while studying the
patterned mystery
of the bay's
Ave Maria waves
from that
dock-by-his-name

where my heart, mind, soul
drink wet inspiration
from the still-oak-tree'd-strong-surfaced waters,
the blue glue of
our common delighted,
uncommon existence

this skill,
at this moment mine,
to share and
not to keep,
for have I not,
been blessed,
by comrades-in-arms
that kneel beside me,
asking, imploring
to be stronger yet,
for their sakes,
for them!
I pray for
best they-can-muster
sustenance of peace
of heart, mind, soul
and body

here now,
my shills,
my failing skills
cannot help express
in new ways,
a gratitude
that has a shapeless shape,
no measurement app enabled
for their comfort,
our comfort,
best grasped as
an unbounded divinity,
how so I wish I could pray for them better

focus this prayer
on the good ones,
who so greatly honor us
with a greater-than-a-creator,
gift glorious of
friendship

this walnut crack'd shell,
this container ship of
heart, mind, soul,
here there,
a few leaks sprung,
no nicotine patches
to cover

this dented car,
this dented body,
new dent every day
from only-you-know-where
still gets me there,

but
other than taking care better,
it plods along and houses
the rearrangement of this prayer's words,
and that is what is called
plenty good enough,
self-sufficient

prayers that are too long
go to the back of line,
so here we be,
but here we do not wait!

for prayers of gratitude
are instantaneous fulfilled,
and thus granted even before
they are completed

oh, they dream
they dream by day
look at them
stood atop a field of daisies
always reaching so far,
like their hands could
break off at any moment
arms stretching to catch the wind
it's the only thing they'll trust
eyelashes fluttering,
ribs expanding, breathe, they keep breathing
they're drifting
don't stop them
don't tell them to come home
don't box them
don't let them know you feel alone
don't love them
aren't they beautiful?
aren't they broken?
please don't scare them
a drifter scared,
is a drifter lost
and yet again,
we've lost them

A smooth jazz blast from the musical past:
The confused ethnomusicology,
The pleasantly discordant riffs and
Jingles of "Hiroshima"—
The band not the bomb site—
Whose fusion sound
Evokes an insane sextet
Granting membership, inexplicably to
Schroeder-- the Peanuts loony tune—
Hitting only the black keys of his piano,
His miniature keyboard
Sour, melodious & pure.
I am reading Ayn Rand’s
"Introduction to the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition"
Of The Fountainhead, 1993;
An important 20th Century novel, I am told,
A book first copyrighted—
That’s copyrighted spelled without a W—
First copyrighted in 1943,
A copyright renewed in 1971,
By Ayn herself;
An important book--
Whether you’ve bought into her
Man-worshiping atheism—
Or not.
I write these words on the back of a business envelope,
The only paper to be found in this house,
Not ironic, while pondering
A wireless laptop charging,
Plugged in far away on a kitchen countertop.
Lying on a couch in northern New Mexico,
It is an Ides of March 2014 mid-afternoon.
I am 64 years old.
Old enough to know better;
Growing more conservative each day,
With Ayn, I celebrate he who never gives up,
“By spitting in one’s own face,
And damning existence.”
The Fountainhead:
She called the book a “GUIDEPOST,”
A reminder of man’s noble vision,
Proclaiming man in noble glory.
A Sartre you were not, Ayn.
How interesting to think of
The two of you, co-temporaries,
Aspirating the same Earth atmosphere.
This fact itself, an astonishing example of
"Weltanschaung" polarity.
No wonder the world is so ****** up.

The festive mood wasn't so contagious,
but it brought me a sense of security,
false as the artificial roses I'd given
to all those whom I had 'loved' before.

The calendar was on its very last page
and I was well on my merry way
to down my final gulp of this concoction:
a blend of gloom and seething rage.

I nursed on the sour poison in my mouth
and mulled over scorned temporaries and
the would-be forevers who got away.
The clock hit twelve; I'm relieved of pain.

They say attention sells
Are you paying?
Good buy
Watching as the sales
Catch wind
In the distance
The omnipotent lurks
It hurts from afar
The closer it gets
Sedated the pain drifts
Internet viral infection
Your subjective objections
Nets more views
They say attention sells
Are you paying?
Opinions gumbo
A snowball effect
What's erected briefly
Affects the aura
Dispersed in seconds
Long lasting knots
Tied in infinite temporaries
Life of
is short like Februaries
Long cold and quick
They say attention sails
Are you paying?
To stay afloat
Drowning in free money
Purchased for nothing
Flailing
sinking from the
Whole within
Anchored
In the middle
Of an ocean of sand
With water on top
They say attention sells
Did you pay yet?

Here we are,
Swimming afar from Great White Sharks
Cooling with chill manatees from Mars.

School Break has been pleasant and it has been unfortunate as a peasant
Tenth grade is all over so what will tumble to cover when the eleventh is to hover?
I am fazed to predict the outcome.

My mom is long gone
And it appears that all is lost
What shall I regain in place of this unpresent ghost?

Never realized
The ultimate surprise
Could suppress me.
Never knew I could be so encouraged
When the terrain gets tough
I am stable to be.

Time surpasses on the clock ticky ******
I remain tucked in my snuggly bed at night
Pondering,
On the thought of how it all came to flash before my eyes in a heartbeat.

Last December
What a chilly, lonesome snowed forest
Current in July
What a hilly, hotsome blown storage

Abstracted memories,
Not a topic listed in my book.
Passages of temporaries,
Fish back to my hook.

What is to uprise
What is to dubb nice
What is to enlarge size
In this life?

Curiosity lingered the atmosphere when I saw you the first time －through gathering of all faces, you were there, sitting in the comfort of your own, gazing too. There was a sign of a ******* in you, and I had this distinct impression that you make out with several girls you met in PNR since you’re a hot looking guy and outgoing who found solace in drinking and that I won’t be your conquest, simply we won’t vibe. But you’re a typical college student-athlete summoned by workouts every mid-afternoon at the field and college demands at night, yet a happy go lucky who never puts exertion pretty sure in class. Our first conversation just revolved around math and how much of a fool I was to flunk my first term exam, I was worrying if I could still be a college scholar but you believed in me that I could still make it. You believed even at the most times I’m in doubt.

You stared at me oftentimes, a smug taming look peeking on your face (probably your way of getting someone’s heart) and me being timid, I could not stand a second of it that I had to look away or hastily whip my rosy face from your sight. It became my habit giving you a gently squeeze to your hand, which honestly my favorite thing to do. And even though you wanted it intertwined from mine, you still let me do it because you also loving it. I could almost see your soul, guaranteed to pique my interest every time we express what our hearts yearn, and with that, it filled me with wonder. We both knew that we were temporaries and that our eyes we got lost into connects us to the moment so, we make the most out of it.

You are terrible in singing, you embraced the fact that you are only good at it when you are drunk, and your voicemail had honestly scrunched up my eyebrows right after the dilemma of hearing it. The taste of cigarette haunts you, it became your five-minute escape but I never see you hold a paper stick filled with tobacco leaves around me, perhaps you didn't let me to, but your mama would certainly scold you if she finds out your ***** little secret. And have  I ever told you that your smile reminds me of Ryan Gosling?

We had the same standpoint to some, but also differ in many ways. It appears we won’t like something just because everybody else does; we had the same antipathy over the things that the majority of the population seems to be fond of. We despised immaturity and entitlement－ to us it is shallow and toxic (that we frankly knew it was the past relationships we were referring to). we were overwrought in hanging out idly, it brought us refuge and my space had always been our rendezvous. I was thrown into fear of opining because somehow, I don't think this world is worth hearing them yet, on the contrary, you are confident to speak up and use your voice since you got plenty of words in your pocket. You found pleasure in sports and numbers whereas linguistics and arts is my cup of tea, yet it never ceases to marvel one's wit ( I have been a mania of minstrelsy and I remember you were astounded through my montage that was written 2 years ago before I had my writer's block) When my tongue loves the taste of coffee, yours is in the tang of alcohol (you never heard me ask you to quit your vices because those are part of you.) and while you have the habit of tearing someone into pieces, I let people take my pieces to let them whole.

We were both lost, wandering through the crowded people and only happen to be two strangers caged in one's abyss. We were trapped by a gaping orb and convenience but perhaps we are something ephemeral; it all happened so fast, it doesn't last. That was early summer and it was vivid, I never heard anything about you since then.

if you must love her
(and you must) because
all of her is worth the non-trouble
but the most-work--

then openly confront the
child that throws fits, when
she sits in front of the house
stewing, kneel and ask--
that is all anyone ever need
do; ask.

or say nothing when she
cries in church, touch shoulders
and keep singing, a low voice
undulating with her father's

if you must love her,
and you know you must,
you have been called out
from all your temporaries
and sort-ofs, nothing ever
remotely permanent
because you must


you must.

there were times
when I filled my lonely cracks
with whatever sort of fit

though I knew
it wasn't really capable of
meeting me on all my levels -
intensity, emotion, intellect,
oddity, creativity, curiosity,
carnal abandon

I've found matches
but those compounds
burn out quickly
sparklestarts
fading

it's terrible how lonely I am
yet, resist being appeased
with (con)temporaries

it always ends up making me
more lonely

after crave subsides
and short-lived chems exit
the self-loathings start chanting
we ******* told you so

when my heart says nope
which it almost always does,
at some percentage,
my body knows -
I'm there, but not fully
in it:
walled distrustful protection mode
no wide open uninhibited throes
it's aspects of yes, meshed with no

it's why
a majority of my encounters
have involved substances
my addiction is afflicted
with knowing
it won't be
the thing I crave

so I numbed
my persnickety heart
in order to keep
fever down

I can't just
open up for anyone -
unfurl rose spectrum
of precise art and language
that comes from heart
and dictates skeleton
to dance in ecstatic
primal possession

I am flint
crafted for
reciprocal ignition
upon inherent nature
of symmetric material

and you know, my heart
has never been blasted off hinges
with body in tandem, 100%

but I know that it
can and will

heal all the things
burn up the pain,
the unbelonging

wipe the slate free
of tormented cravings
replacing with gratitudinal awe

i tried to find myself in a girl with green eyes.  for years i stopped worrying about my identity and let myself relax at the thought that i had it all figured out.  i was happy, she was happy, life seemed so happy.  but how long can happiness really last?  no one can help the unpredictability of life.  we have trouble accepting that life is just comprised of a series of temporaries that we will blow to and from until we meet our end alone.

I came to a fork in the road
One to hell and the other heavenly
The devil standing to the left
Said they both lead to death, invitingly
So, I plan to cheat and took both shoes off
Threw one as far as I could to hell
And sprinted to heaven just to see
I can’t help, but love humanity
Lost in the search for identity
Along our journeys we found empathy
Dodging heartbreaks in war torn countries
We traded a life of riches and temporaries
To help the poor and ill
Cause if it’s not us nobody will
I don’t know where
Our path will lead
But, I beg we follow our feet

And then never stopped by and said "hello"
lines curled away only to be drawn in
whispers of fictitious subtexts huffed along
my stomach knew the truth and gurgled dissent
the isn'ts an' aints raint against obvious strings
i knew i was played made to sound like nothing
receding while bowing under clouds hiding something

let's make since as small as possible from now
then this space we inhabit likes probes with probes
temporaries laced together letter opener thin slits
breathe yesterday onto my blankety-blank tableu
an' i unknow what came to me onto the heap
of sharp rejection shards embedded in a sunny day
reigned in and skittish i knicker and chuff stranger

We all have different ways on how to find happiness. Some still finding it for sure, some already found it and some had already lost it. I've met so many people in different places. Some of them made me smile, some of them made me laugh and most of them made me cry. I never knew that these pack of cigarettes would make me feel relieved even though I know it will only destroy my lungs— giving me heavy breathings at night. I lied to my parents every time they ask me where I have been. Telling them I went to library but In fact, I was in a certain place I know I could find happiness. I did things that I thought I can never do. I drink and smoke, I got tattoos, dyed my hair blue, I lied and I spent my late evenings talking nonsense with you who ain't sure of staying with me for a long time because I know that's the only thing that could help me be happy again. I wrote poetries that contains same metaphors. I scribbled words using your name and I stayed late until midnight just to finish my what so called poem but still end up tearing it into tiny pieces before I throw it into the bin and watch it burn. I never liked strawberries, I never tried to listen to any of your favorite songs, I never liked riding a bike with you every summer but I didn't know why those things makes me smile every time I remember it. I never liked those dresses you gave but I don't know why I still wear them in every occasions I go. I didn't know that you were the happiness I've been trying to find. I didn't know that you could he the source of it.

But I never thought you'd be part of those temporaries. I never thought I'd lose you the same day when I've finally found my happiness. And now here I am again, doing things that could make me happy but thinking of the possible ending makes me want to quit. Because I have realized, happiness weren't made for me.