If there is ever a time  I can be free
Then that time should be now.
I wanna be a tree in the wild
Surrounded solely by my redolence.
i wanna be like the night bat
Free to roam the ethereal essence.
I wanna drink like a sailor
And read every line like a geek.
Like a breathtakingly borne butterfly,
I'll dance the samba in  the zithering zephyr
I wanna be free. Free to be me!
Jump of a cliff and bounce on the cotton clouds


But these are just wishes
For every time I am awake
I'm trapped within these stuccoed walls.
I really wanna be free.
They say get better don't get bitter.
I'm working on switching them letters
They say pain hurts and fear hates...
I say pain strengthens and fear draws faith
When am free I will wash away every doubt
I will take my time...Maybe this time.

in the provincia, scarcely dense
of terrors and their territories,

oh, why the familiar "magtataho"
resonating in the hollow gray-lipped gutter

the batter of eggs and their absolute
nuclei in the dome of the bowl

so trilling of birds christening the town
with their sibilant breeze— myriad gyration of the "banderitas",

aye, my heart gallops in its shearing throb
and no moon shall eclipse underneath
the unheard druid of strife-torn memorabilia;

all green, prancing and zithering the shadow of the bramble and the tawny
body of this brindled Earth, all mine
to take in my mouth
the supplication of silence,

all mine, the fine afternoon!

November's Daughter


oh, say you, zithering delightfully
    the leaf's breath leads me on
    to the tree of your sanguinity.

the wind is much stronger,
    the verdure is greener
   in my side of the Earth
you cross with a single glance
   etching something in the soul:
a writ of marvels or a lace of birds
    stringing across the entire
November morning.

in one of the days made thoroughly
    by careful hands,
  it is you in the flesh of many
   tangible days.

i say again,
the wind is cooler,
  thwarting the summer.
surly flowers glide in the air
   and the clouds twitch in sun-glaze
  and temperamental pondering

November supremed you, me;
   the sovereign of its bounty
  opened its door and let in,
     a crystalline vestige:

the wind is tender past the windows.
  i watch the slow specter of night
    in its vertical climb;

  you,
the moon,
    altogether, hand in hand,
  like water falling and falling
    into my mouth, receiving your shadow–
the world
    moves brighter than ever.