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
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...