Soliloquy

This will most likely
get ignored
but I’ll do it anyway:

I will make silly
topiaries out of
the trees lining
the boulevard, run
a brush of blue
paint on the walls
of the government offices,
the hospitals,
the universities,
bus station,
and convenience stores,
light up fireworks
that burst in dizzying
fractals everytime
I wake up,
eat my meals,
or entertain
an idea
in my brain.

Nevermind, that
to you, the topiaries
appear as your garden-variety
trees, the paint
is transparent
and the fireworks
non-existent.

Advertisements

Metamorphosis

We are all waiting,
our voices hushed,
our breaths steadied,
our eyes alert
for that moment
when all shall be shed:
these trappings
that bear us down
with gravity
as immense as
darkness, as ancient
as the time
we ambitioned,
in folly, to be like you.

We have been straining
in vestures once
sullied, now cleansed,
eager, exhilarating
for this: when
all shall be light
all shall be air
all shall truly
be like you

Silence

And there was silence.

And in that span, I saw
an ache, like that from
a barb lodged deeply
in the flesh. On good days,
you forget,
as if tissues
and sinews have knit
themselves around it,
now, a part of you
you cannot isolate.
On bad days, it howls,
relentless through the hours,
demanding to be felt,
denying you some rest,
throbbing with ghosts
and words both
sought and unsaid.
There was nothing
I could do, but sit
and share
in your silence.

that sinking feeling

those times when
you see / hear
something and your heart
s
i
n
k
s

(and no, I don’t mean
about those times when
it plunges to abyssal
depths, to wallow
in light-deprived waters
among the tube worms
and blind crustaceans)

those times when
it sinks a few feet
only to bob
up to the surface
and drift
through the rest
of the day

Icarus

we are always
building our empires
mounting levels
upon levels
of concrete,
steel, glass,
words,
volumes, cash,
perspiration,
tears, hearts,
all for a chance
to steal
that holy fire,
that sacred flame
from the stars

but our towers
could never scale
the lightyears,
the parsecs,
the red shifts
but it reaches us,
heat, from those stars
traversing
the red shifts,
the parsecs,
the lightyears
and burning
the levels
upon levels
of hearts, tears,
perspiration,
cash, volumes,
words, glass,
steel and concrete:
the empires we build
again

and again

and again

pa(g)asa

nag-atang
nagpaabot
ug maayong balita

naghulat
sa mga eskina
kay basin diay
matimingan
ang pag-abot

ug kung makaplagan
sundon
gukdon
maski pinakagamay
nga timailhan,
hungihong
sa hangin,
istoryang
nakatago
sa abog
sa dalan,
nagkatibulaag
sa imong
mga lakang

halo

tonight
she wears her crown
iridescent and cold
a massive frame
around her lonely head.

tomorrow
she’ll cast it down
diaphanous and cold
a volley of glass
to drown
the worlds below.

crowns

they walked home
wearing
their crowns
reflecting
the streetlamps,
the headlights,
the stares
of strangers
they did not care
the street,
the night,
the world
was theirs
to rule until
they reach their
homes
discard
their crowns,
but not the fact
that briefly
they were
queens.

キラキラ

I like to think of them
as motes aloft
in afternoon
sunbeams
and not
silica and lime,
shed skin,
and soot.

I like to think of them
as alive:
pixies in dance
disenthralled
by wind and wheels
from sluggish trance,
some torpor spell.
They bathe
the city
in golden
splashes.

you

a shadow, a rustle,
a flutter, a crack
in the doorway.

in that tiny space,
you dance
visible
only to those who seek,
audible
only to those who listens.

in that tiny space,
the cosmos
the sublime
the infinite
you