poem
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dungeon classroom
the prison guard is timewith his chrono-whip.lethargy is my class-, dungeon-mate. bubbling out from prof’s vile mouth: philosophical ennuis, killing me with jagged essences, mysteries, presences, problems, matter, truths, unfolding being and three sticky hours of slow, painful death. of philosophical damnations i halfly care about, i turn a dumb ear to the devil with Continue reading
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This is How I Understand Grief, Solitude
This is how I understand Grief: When the crisp and hollow wailing of our neighbor In front of her dead son Lost its consonants and the trail of Vowels seems to me the last echo In her womb. This is how I understand Solitude: I sit in a park bench And no one sits beside Continue reading
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That We Call Face
it clings helplessly to the skull like an overripe fruit ready to drop on the forest floor or perhaps a child’s play-sticker, loosely gripping blood and what-have-yous. it never really reveals itself; it only shows its smoothness and curves or some clandestine scars here and there. it parades its flaws or its enchanting beauties, Continue reading
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Ode to Uncertainty
maybe it’s like the sun – that quietly slides up and down the oily sky, then gone and there again. maybe it’s a prayer – gently caressing the cheeks of capricious gods and serving them nectar and honey and blood and heads. maybe it’s paper – pregnant with words and pictures that are Continue reading
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To Washi
[Tropical Storm Washi/Sendong hit the Philippines on December 16, 2011 killing more than a thousand in its wake.] an innocent prelude – indiscriminating rain falling on shoulders, heads, toes, spirits. angering stream and river gods, death wearing dark cloak of water, floods, broiling torrents. we prayed to forces, chances, and unseen anitos lying on piles Continue reading
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Free Spirits
they live behind bars, behind curtains and closed doors, mirrors, closed eyes, embraces and sighs; as prisoners, as wives, as students, as water, as unread poems, as contained dreams they are, Free spirits, watched over by envious clouds. Continue reading
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Circe
They say you came from the line of Hippolyta, Fierce warriors of the Taurus mounts; You are no one but a mother of three And wife of Chronos the Titan. On your back the map to the golden fleece, On you face, the goddess of Helen. You hung the Cyclops on trees and Bred Gaia’s Continue reading
Being Here, Now. 