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As Fog

As fog grazes these hillsawash with browning shrubs,shanties creep from the valleylined with rivers swelling withdry rocks and restless ants.

nothing has changed only the forms of it

nothing has changed only the forms of it when we wedded the struggle brought us before a mayor who joked, run as fast as you can don’t let the dictator catch you

Daemon and Dreamer

  You are the Past I’ve annihilated To save Myself.   In my slumber You took root Inside me Against my will, Tangled tentacles Of a poisoned love Long dead.   I ripped out Your tortured spirit To exorcise you From...


This is how you make sinigang:   Take a kilo of buto-buto, wash it under running water. Use your fingertips to grope each piece for stray shards of bone, and don’t...

After Reading Hemingway’s “Clean, Well-lighted Place” (For Joel Toledo and the Bayaws)

Soon it will be like us. Eighty-year-old men Being refused another round of beersWaiters eager to go home to their wives.Assuming we reach old ageWith the way we drink our sorrows, The way we drink our longingsThe way we order buckets of pain,We strive to...

Story with My Grandfather

My grandfather growled Outside the windowOf the parked Corolla in the garage.  I parked myself insideBecause we fought the week before. My parents had separatedAnd I took my mother’s side.  Dad’s father lawyered for himWho brought me to school,Who was with me and brother dailyWhile Mom was...

After the Rain

I used to hate rain. My heart would trembleupon its arrival.Announcing its comingwith grey, dreary,and foreboding skies. I used toclose the curtain,draw the blinds,close my eyes,and pray that the rainwould go away. Now, I love the rain.welcomingand embracing it when it comes.“Hello, rain. We meet again.” Chaos...


Do not catchA butterfly With your hands,Especially not A white oneEven with itsEver so slightStreaks of black. You might Damage itsDelicate wingsAnd it can Never fly again.Catch it, rather,With a cameraOr even just Your mind’s eyeRemembering itThrough your ownMetamorphosis Into a livingShining beingClothed in whiteLinen like Someone We all know.


It is not poetry that kills but life.(by Jerry Berryman) True, I am against yourCharged, pure silk silkenAnd crumby softI need polyester for strength, But only the right percentageTo insure against shrinkage. And this one whirl of silkIs febrile, tenuous, and remote.Tearing badly at the slightestBrush...

The Shape of Tears

Out of the blue yonderIn sheer queer wonderDaughter asks meWhat is the shape of tears? I wonder what she meant.Has she wept too much?Cried as muchOr as frequentIn her tender age? Has she bawledAnd bellowedOver some little romanceSome passing fancyRemembering the boyYet forgetting the feeling? Has...

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