Poetographie

when my line wavers,
i go cut
and
enjamb it-
go back
to where the original thoughts
and splinter them off

so i cud feel them on my skin-
pierce me one by one

the fragmented
words
should cut
my tongue

it should serve as the sweetest penetration-
swallowed with my own blood.

She eats her pride once again-
one without chopsticks
but with bare hands.

She munches her words,
Grinds her thoughts
and swallows the
remaining syllables


the feeling is transcendental
it's like eating her own brain,
so lean and tender
that one could hear it
singing the pain,
the tissues smell
like rancid wound
devoured by hungry
foraging wolves

after which, she hangs her skull
on the clothesline,
it easily dries up
like how anger develops into
vengeance-
she notices it,
finally
when the blood
creeps
through her palm.

When Emily's abstraction leaps into the lips
of my pen, i go nowhere-
going inside the circles
creating more and more abstraction
until the last word bleeds
with no hesitation and
its own existence defies the world
of Emily where the melody
plays as silent as her tears.

Broken cymbals clapping

a barrage of laughter-

an accompaniment made in heaven.

I stood before you
the lamppost flickered again
Darkness hovered light.

Heaven showers its sympathetic tears-
Kissing Nature once again,
Trees, flowers and mountains celebrate
Having a merry go round with the wind-

It halts and the breeze comes sweeping
Dusting little fellows that it sees
The river cries a flood of tears
Like unhappy, swollen farmers from the fields
All their treasures gone
Like minced tiny diamonds undone

tears-
They tiptoe in the sand
Plopping into their own bodies
Creating a perfect accompaniment,
Whispering but sometimes
concert of drums and yellow alloys-

A Pitter-patter of
Harmony
Created under the rhythm of
Heaven’s sympathetic tears.

(the sky is a downcast portrait of myself-
just had a salty share of its tears)

My eyes bled
teardrops of sadness-
sadness that I and my cheek
could only feel,
cold,
shivering fears of melancholy
hopes waltzed with the
distant souls of the
breathing wind
It halted-
Just had its share
Of the sweetest goodbye,
Cold
freezing
Like a snowflake in the air.

I will sail across the ultramarine-
Together with a gunner,
who shoots the wind with
his wildest dreams

There,I will find you
at the deepest bed of the sea
cordoned off by strange
colorful and
varied sea creatures-
sea lavender
coils around your palm,
tiny fishes penetrate
your hallowed dwelling-

From
a distance of longing-
I raze my gunner's
sword to defeat Them,
a bleeding picture of a rose,
an exhausted piece of petal
despairingly floating-
catching
each of the bubble's
inept vivacity
drawing its strength
from elusive
color of fortune.

Brilliant red streams
creep across the floor.

She hears one great slam from a far
Bomb or a hammer
pounded by a great hand-
who knows?

Mercy with fear-
fucking gently inside
his head,
One blow and
everything

turned

into blue
with feathers so white and
fine as that of an angel,

the stream merges into
heaven's sympathetic
tears where it breeds
sorrowful memory
of His piercing
Shot.

When the bus finally arrived,
People swarmed like partying little flies
They chattered , more of a gibberish talk-
I swerved my glance through the sweet smelling
Flowers where I got a chance to witness
The beauty of symmetry butterflies showed off.

Oh those giant pine trees immeasurably tall
stood like little heaven’s giants
Concealing the wonders beneath them-
The fine texture of your hair trickled my palm
With a giggling experience
and the crust of your trunk shed tiny crumbs of
aged skin where you owe very much
of your little dwelling.

The exact flavor of the red fleshy strawberry I savored
made me to look at
my face in the mirror-
a sour and perfect distortion
of my parents masterpiece!
which I never would want
my eyes to gaze upon it again.

The Ifugao dancers with their tribal costumes
on and toothless smiles caught my attention-
I was never that happy when I tried
To sway my ass and performed the ifugao moves.
It seemed like it brought me into the terraces where manners of true
conduct were devoid-
but I did reap with a bahag.

Nevertheless, I love
The soothing cool breeze-
A surprisingly barreled fresh air
Were unjammed,
Totally different from the metro’s
Slaying smog.

Once again,
I shall return-
Return with my plastic bags ready
Ready to cup
an ideal air.

Those eyes were a perfect picture of gala
Where it mirrored the women dancing,
The shouts contained
euphoric dose of champagnes-
A perfect choice of tequila,
And bloody colored cherries were
but an adornment for the night.


What makes it grand
are the sniffing hungry bulls
that scoff around every bitch –
smells like an excited little pussy.


His eyes wore the brightest gleam
Of a .45 caliber pistol,
Ready to puff anytime-


How I love to glide my hands-
While I let his devious fraudulent eyes
Witness the wine gradually
Dripping from my golden chalice-


Oh, how I love to call it a night.

Every night I do rumba,
With my hands behind the bushes,
Crawling feeling every bit of the nerve-
Sensitive,
A gratifying experience to one’s
Howling
embittered
Soul

I scratch my hands unto his naked flesh
I come inch by inch to
gradually
ease the pain-
It stabs me like an angry knife,
Tough and sharp

I slid my fingers inside the green and young
tresses of the grass,
the feeling means everything-
it is complete and exquisite
A silent cat having her final life

The scratch,
I love it when the woods are scarred by the scratches,
I love do to it in the shadow
I am glad to see darkness eating the light-
It screams with its head
Peeping into the hole
The tiny O,
Only the four cornered room can hear and see,
Every night…
Every night…

1. 
   Goodbye words,

The first time I did it was with Voe,
We were lying under the starless doomed sky
With champagne and a bottle of shared whiskey
It was cold
And we badly needed IT.
It was fun though it was our first Time,
After which, we sat beside the
Flames-
We were hot,
As though a feeling was about to burst,
Yes,that was my first….
With Voe

The last time I did it was with Voe,
We were sitting under a tree with
A gram of marijuana
Rolled like a cigarette,
We were singing comely incantations
Dancing like gods of a tribe,
Laughing like there’s no tomorrow-
no one could ever hear us but only
The lonesome hearts of lifeless trees
and mountains

I first boarded a plane with Voe,
18 years old,yes
We were young back then,
Kids at heart as we usually say,
I never saw him without a curve on his lips-
We were talking about supreme things,
Journeying together,
Making our way to Athens
and sailing across the
Canals of Venice.
It was perfect
We were like the
kings of our own dreams

The only instance that I never did a thing with Voe was
When I discharged a bullet,
It was a Sunday.
I was with a friend,
I pointed the gun before his eyes
then shot him like a trapped bunny,
Yes, I did it without Voe,
But he was there with me
Accompanying me
Lying, resting on the sofa-
With a gush of blood coming out
From his head.
It was him.
It was Voe.