traffic

a finger scratches a spot on the head

confusion: missed points

who am i in a race against?

anxiety: the point is still missed

time is jotted down according to non-random circumstance

apprehension: points that will not connect

it is rush hour and motion is all that matters

despair: and it all flies past

acquiescence

you held my hand and across the meridian the sun grew dimmer
giving this threadbare nook added luminance

i dreamt of you and worlds within worlds, worlds outside our own,
responded

you spoke of love and awoke inside me the force of a gale
in the distance, a tree shook at the impact

i dreamt of you and worlds within worlds, worlds of our making,
blossomed

tongue-tied

the throat turns dry and moisture
collects in the palms of shaking hands
wordlessness. empty thought fills the
silence created by an incapability
to profess.

uncertainty. a perception of unattainability.
cracked lips turn on corners
turn down, not heavenward
with the understanding that battles are not won
by cowards

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mas okay yata kung ang title ay...TORPE...:p 

i wait as you follow luna

you crash over me like breakwater at high tide
it is never pleasant to be soaked
to the skin with my socks still on

but comfort is relinquished in your presence
i am silenced to acceptance
and accede to the onslaught of the spray

i will stand and let the barrage wash over me
i will stand and let the water take its toll
i will stand and watch when you finally recede

13

you, there, wrapped in your gilt-framed cocoon
did you ever wonder what it cost
to stay locked inside that half-empty tomb?

you, there, blowing rings into the air
did you ever wonder what it meant
to sit laid back and unaware?

knock open
knock your
knock eyes

i'm waiting here to break you out
out
no more

tense

i cut myself on the sharpness
of your forgetting
it is such a clear unremembrance
that the skin of my gaping wound
wraps around the lost memory
in the hopes of protecting it
only to surrender once again
to the void you've forced on history

thoughtful

it is not enough to write or to write well
a thorn scratches at my heart of hearts
unrelenting until perfect prose
captures the source of the offending rose

at goodbye

And your heart bleeds whole translucent
drops of love that can't be saved
that continues but will not hold.

It is unbearable and your lips move
releasing a cry that began
before time was noted.

from the depths of a suffocating self-abyss
the pain is not relevant
only mind-breaking loneliness exists.

The night holds questions
only a broken heart understands.



--------------------------------------------
*written for nats

proofread

it all boils down to one more word

one last line (let's hope it's a memorable one)

a last ditch effort

an added embelishment to an already drawn-out excuse

"the dog ate it, miss"

and "a three-legged dog, miss"

"i gave it my best"

and "i can still be better"

"give me one more chance"

and "it will never happen again"

"but i love you"

and "but you said you love me too"

always something extra to prolong that strand of hope

a little detail, a hint of a promise

nothing to change the truth of the outcome.

it's over.

death dwells in her thoughts

her life stands, bears witness
to the whispers of aging voices
like the wind rustling through browned leavse
time touches her slowly,
tracing each curl before settling
as cold felt in her knocking joints

she moves at first unsure then into a dervish
giving up only when the sun denies her
the hope of new light
she takes the shape of every woman, each woman
forgone by chance and skipped by fate
her life stands, bears witness.
her own witnessed by none.