Thursday, January 28, 2010

saunter strut scintillate

the night is ticking
ticking tock to dawn--
i strut, i saunter
i scintillate
in these sordid,
slimy streets--
not an ounce of sleep
spilt on my sheets

piping panangis

tila kandilang nauupos ang mga araw
sabay sa taghoy ng iyong mga tangis—
balon ng dalamhating pumapailanlang sa kawalan

ibulong mo ang iyong mga agam-agam
sa mga aninong nagkukubli sa kadiliman
sa bulag na bintana, sa piping pintuan

ang iyong mga mata, naghihingalong gasera
tuloy sa paglamlam sa indayog ng hanging
nagbabadya ng matinding unos na parating.

Monday, January 11, 2010

love's cocoon

Let me vanish with your kiss
pop in an instant like bubbles do, in plain sight;
pull me in by the gravity of your eyes—
deep pools of black velvet,
riddled with stars;
let me sleep deep in your embrace,
snuggle me warm and safe—
cocooned from all these worldly cares
by the strength of your ribcage;
let me close my eyes and be with you,
even for just a moment’s breath;
in our place that’s neither here nor there—
as tender as a frail whisper,
as delicate as a strand of hair;
let me lay my head softly
on your chest, take comfort
from your beating heart that says
I’ll be safe,
I’ll be safe

Monday, November 23, 2009

love at first prick

and she laughs—
sickly and sweet;
saunters silkenly,
holy down your highway;
tears up her skirt,
cracks up a dance;
to taunt and to tease—
tear you out your wits

oh she crackles—
and you crack;
bones break,
burning and barking
boiling your brain a soft
gooey goo –
flushable, edible
straight down the loo.

and she sings—
close your eyes,
hear her sing;
lull you sick,
lull you sweet;
loose your marbles
bit by bit

and she laughs—
hoarse as a whore’s,
wild as a child’s;
close your eyes,
close your eyes;
swirl round and round
her rasping, lilting
hurtling lullabye

Thursday, October 22, 2009


the birds
have fallen
I cannot tell
the time of day

the shadows
playing by
my bedside bemoan
the passing
of May

you look
at me pallid
and shrunken
from across
your pillow

never thought
these curtains
could ever turn
this rotten
this yellow

the garden lies
the fountain, dry
the gates rust
the leaves sigh

my breath heaves
gazing out the window
the sky is ashen
like your urn is
ashen, too

i look
at you pallid
and shrunken
from across
my pillow

you’re always silent
as the birds are silent
these days
tenderly, unflinchingly
your eyes held me lovingly

yes, yes
it is time

Monday, September 14, 2009


Naiinis ako
Sa hatak ng hikab
Sa pagpungay ng mata
Sa saglit na pagkahiga
Hahalinghing, hihikbi
Hihikab, ngangasab
Tulo-laway ako
sa unan mong kayakap

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


mapangutya, nang-uuyam
ang liwanag na ibinabadya
ng bukang-liwayway
na tumatagos sa ating silid;
sa aking pagkatao;
sa aking mga kalamnang
puspos ng ligalig—

ligalig sa sandaling maupos na
ang alab ng iyong mga yakap,
at mamuti na ang aking mga labi—


sa pagdating ng umagang
papanaw na ang dampi
ng iyong mga halik;
ang dantay
ng iyong mga bisig
sa aking dibdib

malamlam ang mga araw
na di ka kapiling
sa loob ng parisukat
ng ating silid

maari bang dito ka na lamang—
manatili't huwag nang lumisan?
igapos mo ako sa iyong kalamnan;
heto ang kumot, halika
magsara ng bintana at kurtina;
magtalukbong tayo’t mamaluktot--
hanggang sa ang haring araw
ay sya nang lumubog.

Monday, June 22, 2009

at the crack of dawn the lampposts weep

actors will have their crowd
sprawled and in thrall
the moment the lights go out
and final curtains fall

kings will no doubt have
their men; their monuments
alabaster jars, slaves
concubines and all

warriors will have their wives
daughters and gun salutes;
their flags on the stand-by
for when the shadows call

but who will weep now
for the whore—

and that tattered red dress;
those rouged cheeks that roar;
the tired laughter from a queen
blowing easy in the wind?

who will weep now for that jaunty gait
the staccato of worn-out stilletos
echoing loudly against darkened halls
painting the lonely nightsky red?

who, indeed?

certainly not
the kings, the soldiers;
the actors that groaned
and moaned in her bed

the traffic signs will remember
and the streets that shared her rampage;
the paling moon by the crack of dawn
and that lamppost she calls home

they will remember
they will weep
and not forget.

Thursday, June 11, 2009


your saints taunt me—
spit at me in the face,
they mock me;
them with their stern faces
carved in stone

i do their tap dance
tap tap tap
to implore them
tap tap tap
to spare me from such hatred
tap tap tap
oozing from your eyes

tap tap tap

it soars with my grief
as you mix them, croaking
with diabolical devotion--
bloated frogs
swimming on your cauldron

tap tap tap

and must you laugh
you hag, you witch
your big ugly laugh
as you drown me down
your wicked brew?

tap tap tap

and oh, those grimy things
you spit; the muck
that cake your lips,
from the putrid words
they feed you--
you really take from them,
don’t you—

your saints

carved in stone

tap tap tap

spitting dead rats
and sewage goodies,
by way of your religion

Saturday, May 30, 2009

whore, i say

whore, i say--
cheeks slightly ruddy
from the sweltering heat--
you look from left to right,
right to left;
gasping a little
in admiration
of the pristine construction--
a true bourgeois beauty;
deserving nothing
but a well-poised pout
and slightly raised eyebrows
before blowing em a kiss

whore, i say
as you hold on to your waist,
and to your breath;
you shift your gaze down
and curl those lips--
the way those wet locks curl
as they sizzle, drying in open air—
oh, those deliciously devious lips,
devoid of mercy when aimed
at paralyzing targets
within that unforgiving
ten mile radius;
now that gaze seems to say,
Bitch, you still have it
Whore, you still got what it takes

to make that mirror steam
and break and sin;
lusting for your attention

Whore, i say;
You woke up today
Gasping for air,
as if just come
from a long-winding dream;
and you realize
the mirror doesn’t seem
so friendly anymore,
so flattering, so sparkling--
now that you’re 28;
and you realize
it’s just a slow downhill trek
long and winding
from here on

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

my mind wanders

my mind wanders
in circles, in doodles—
like my pen scratching
this antiseptic blankness of paper

my mind wanders
like a sparse sprinkling of stars
floating in the womb of the night;
dying quietly, at the strike of daylight

my mind wanders
like a dragonfly, skirting the still
waters of a pond; droning endlessly—
never touching ground

my mind wanders
like a puff of smoke, dancing
rolling; ghost-like, hovering
over my nicotine-stained teeth and tongue

puff—goes another blank sheet;and another
puff—endless circles, endless doodles;
deep into the night; into the day—
my mind wanders, droning endlessly

my mind wanders

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

last full show

The old movie house by the town square
still remembers you,
from a decade’s cadence
of topgrosser movies
and blockbuster shows;
you, with the boyish grin
and the killer swagger;
the caramel eyes, the caramel hair
and the caramel toes;
the projectors will run your caramel lips
one last time, for its final show—
tomorrow they will come in droves
popcorn in hand,
just to see you go

Sunday, April 12, 2009

wild child

woke up to the morning sun; kissing me warm
i can still feel it—little tingles that run like rivers—
on my belly, my neck and my arms;
telling me to cartwheel out my window,
and ride, a dragonfly passing-by;
to see my happiness reflected on wispy wings
that chart the colors of the sky;
to hear my heart stutter as we flutter
through the wind, touching grass wet with dew;
to feel my ears go numb, in anticipation of a slowing due—
a mid-air transfer—free-falling, tumbleweeding;
landing softly on a butterfly’s velvet wings;
to taste my excitement as we glide; oh, to glide—
hair matted with dirt, and twigs, and leaves that dried—
into the sun; wings flapping, gliding into the sun:
to stare at it, and not go blind;
to stare at it and not go blind

Thursday, April 9, 2009

crimson flowers | a rhyme before bedtime

tiptoe, tiptoe;
sneak, quietly;
duck, hide—
dive when you need to

her lair, its there—
loud with her snoring;
and chicken-a-clucking, too

slither, slither;
like her hair slithers;
into her pit, silently—
creep oh-so-quietly

careful, careful;
take care, oh, do take care,
not to wake the monster
beautiful in her slumber

or you will regret,
terribly regret;
once those eyes awake,
all bones will break

unsheathe your dagger;
slit her neck, a flowing
darling crimson flower—
but first, hear them hiss :

her hair, her hair—
hiss, hiss; hissing
hissing in her chamber;
hissing, plucking

plucking, plucking
plucking at the chicken—
cluckity, cluckity
cluckity cluck, cluck

plucking at the chicken

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

in the tender light, in the blistering heat

You once wrote, in ink and paper
that i am your missing piece;
that i make the puzzle—
your puzzle, complete;
in bold, curling, romantic strokes
your heart bled those words

for me, for me

for you i won’t write, in ink and paper—
for you we’ll have lovely dinners;
lovely walks, lovely talks;
in the tender light of the moon,
in the blistering heat of the sun;
i’ll hold your hand

i’ll hold your hand

and together, we’ll have alchemy;
we’ll write on our very own—
skin, flesh and bones—
the lone word we tried, forming
with our minds; curling with our lips--
at the outset of this journey:


just lovely

Friday, March 27, 2009

at sundown

The butcher and his wife
are at it again, in the other room—
he with the knives, and she with the axe;
throwing blades and parrying arguments
over dinner by candlelight; the air blooms
sweet with murder and carved chicken,
the smell wafts through your room;
brings you to your knees, in silent supplication—
for a truce to end all hostilities,
for a truce to end your duties;
you hate bloody morning clean-ups
with the pail and the mop
you hate hickey marks and early morning hugs;
kisses that go sour, at dinner by candlelight

Sunday, March 22, 2009

take heart, troubled child

take heart, troubled child; let your father’s ghost sing you lullabies
you wallowed for too long in this crumbling madhouse;
go and heed his song, let your spirit rise—past these velvet drapes, these motes;
these echoes that bounce up and down these walls;
you are not the dining table, nor its maggots aching in endless fornication;
you are not the chandelier, the padded rooms, the straight jacket—
nor the warden’s truncheon; they all call out to you 'his royal highness';
to which you bow and you curtsy, leaving them all in darkness

the light falling out your doorstep smell of your mother’s cooking
that day you turned thirteen; hungrily you step out, past all the madness
into that sunlit street that call to you, from half-remembered dreams;
the sunlight kissing your back flutter gently like a thousand butterfly wings;
the grass remember you, from when you were but a child, dragonfly-chasing;
slowly you break into a run—past the rabbit, the magician and the clown—
how odd it seems, you tell yourself, that the circus came to town;
as you make a dash for the old storehouse, sleeping by your crown

take heart troubled child, hear your father’s ghost singing in moonlight ;
while in that faraway world where the sun licks, you turn the door handles til you hear them click
the air in the storehouse is hot and humid; memory in this place, it seems, is thick;
you rummage the boxes for grimy chocolates, taking false comfort in anything that’s sweet
beside you, you begin to notice, your father’s ghost, jumping like a kid—
he found his toy, happy and quick; you wonder where your 'happy' box might be
you wonder, 'could there be one for me?'--furious, you start with the mad hunt;
furious, you howl; by the pale light of the moon bathing your cell, you fill your lair with grunts.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

dance of the daggers

and so it begins

a wickedly sweet
blossoming in the ribcage—
spiralling lotus daggers
coiling and uncoiling,
in a sumptuous dance;
taunting and tempting,
tempting and taunting
a ravenous rage:
a nameless god--
sorrow from your depths

til you can no longer hold back;
til you explode
in myriad hues of black

wicked and sweet

Monday, February 9, 2009

this hollow house i live in

I am a faint heartbeat—
beating on these walls,
beating on the floor;
beating on closed windows,
beating on tight-shut doors

i beat inside my head,
in between these ears;
inside this hollow house
that reeks of my stench,
and quakes with my fears

i beat in faint whispers
in the dead of the night,
these long forgotten syllables—
this half-remembered might:
so delicate, in one single babble

'twil flower in sight

and so i beat--
with these small voices,
softly cooing in the ears
of this catatonic shell,
i've once held dear

I am a faint heartbeat, now—
sighing on these walls,
sighing on closed windows;
i sigh a name, moaning—
i moan my name, once more

Sunday, January 25, 2009

tick tock goes the insomniac

The house is a sleeping beast
breathing on my back;
It speaks to me in whispers—
drip-drops from faucet leaks,
and little creaks from dark corners;
they echo in the hollows of my ears—
like stone thrown
in the depths of a well,
sounding and resounding
like my thoughts do:
incessant in their mindless chatter;
they work in clockwork precision
tick tock tick tock tick tock
so these dreary eyes
tick tock tick tock
tremble with dread
tick tock
and dread
the sight of the beast
finally walking
the light of a new day

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

the fold artist perspective

crumpled like a sheet of paper
you lie on your sheets, wasted
vainly attempting an unfurling—
you twist and you turn, and you twist
some more; grunting your gut out
in a grim grimace; what more can you do?
when all those billowing and swirling
shapes are there, up in the ceiling
and you are here, nestled in your sheets
scarred and scared shitless—
shitting yourself; shit, oh shit.

you are not satin, nor silk
like you once thought, my dear
as to billow, swirl and unfurl—
the thought just makes my blood curdle
you are paper; plain and simple
devoid of things that razzle and dazzle
why not instead learn
the art of origami—
fold yourself a hundred times
and be reborn : a swan, a crane, a monkey
now, wouldn’t that thought be lovely?

Sunday, January 18, 2009

death in the attic

a child died in my attic tonight;
a lone candle mourns her passing--
its flickering tongue casts cold shadows
on the floorboards, and the hungry walls;
where faded ghosts frolick with faded paint
in endless secret orgies,
by the pale light of the moon--
a cat stretches languidly at a nearby tree;
while the restless winds coo
a lovely howling dirge
lamenting lost laughters,
and perfect happy daughters.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

just between our eyes

your eyes tell me
you still want more

of my creamy

so cream me dry
cream me more

make my eyes
scream for more

Monday, January 12, 2009

roadside haiku

oh wilting flower
wilting pretty by the road
my heart wilts with you

Thursday, January 8, 2009


I reach for my bed posts as you plunge
Your head between my legs, bobbing—
Like my rubber-ducky, i turn; yellow with fever.

Friday, January 2, 2009

the sewers

The open sewers teemed with rats and smelled of rot
That night we said goodbye; it stands, open, to this day—
Like my heart does, teeming with rats; smelling of rot

Tuesday, December 30, 2008


I grind my teeth til my tongue bleed

Til they cut its skin, and the flesh bleed

Grind, grind, grind; bleed, bleed, bleed.

Monday, December 29, 2008

carnival queen

The moon hung low amongst the tents tonight;
For she heard a song that bespoke with delight
Of a grand spectacle sung by dreamers—
of jesters and fire-eaters, midgets and jugglers—
a shabby court dancing, defiant of their queen
and her poodle lover with a tongue so clean

in measured steps and careful laughter,
the magician conjured the poison orders—
nothing to be spared of her, not even her garters.
Not one poodle hair on her white, white garters.
the balloon man howled, signaling the pack
the start of the hunt, with the moon on their back.

Carnival queen, oh carnival queen,
where art thou, our beautiful queen?
Cried the sweet, murderous chorus out for a scream.
Carnival queen, oh please do no fret,
we promise to be gentle in staging your death,
Not a drop spilt, or your ball gown’s wet.

She ran and ran, fraught with fear
For she hears their footsteps, ever so near
Nestled in her bosom—her poodle prince;
Flicks his tongue and licks her skin.
Sigh and sizzle, she muttered some relief
All she wanted was a reprieve from grief

For loving her prince—fangs, fur and tail
Was it ever so doomed as to end in this trail?
A lovers’ cliff opening to sea, arms outstretched--
offering rest; she stops on her track, breath heaving;
looking through his eyes, searching for meaning—
her court will soon meet them; certain and unforgiving.


the moon dipped on the black waters this night;
for she witnessed a spectacle that ended in heights.
She danced and she swirled, shining and beaming
Asking a question that henceforth goes ringing:
Carnival queen, oh carnival queen,
Where art thou now, oh beautiful queen?

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

the anatomy of seduction

my eyelids convulse to the beat of a thousand drums
when you stare at me like that—
a kid drinking me like soda pop in the hot afternoon sun;
primal, ravaging; taking me in big thirsting gulps
til i am no more. lost in the space between your gaze
and my terminal yearnings; in transit until the next train arrives,
dreaming my technicolor dreamscape of merry-go-rounds
and cotton candies; ferris wheels and easter bunnies;
drifting with the clouds in sing-song existence
as my anorexic angels plead my case, weeping in silence
for my release; wailing, destitute in the shadows
of this cathedral-prison that your likable-lickable
ice cream eyes built for me.
me--a wooden puppet whose strings are pulled taut;
closer and closer to you as you flash that bedeviled grin,
smoking hot and moan-inducing; oohhh.
me--a tattered soul quivering under your bright lights,
pierced at the iris to eschew any and all resistance
as you laugh your satin syrup laughter. divine and devastating.
my winged counsels dream the hara-kiri in torment
as my technicolor theme park melt to mush;
and the train lights go poof!

black is the color of seduction.

and then you say hello.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

the tryst

amidst these boxes, stacked and labeled--
things owned and quietly forgotten;
amidst these dingy walls and forlorn floors,
and cobwebs gingerly hanging

we jostle and tumble, hungry and heaving--
thigh slide on thigh, hurried and clamping;
dribbling shallow breaths, back and forth
back and forth; yours to mine, mine to yours

tongues grope, thrust and flick,
eyelids fluttering quick;
backs arch, and buttocks glide,
bee stings blossom on backsides

we rise and ebb with the flood of our sweat,
rolling ruggedly on the dust carpet
of the stone-cold floor, as we fall asleep
caked with mud, as midnight creeps.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

in remembrance

my sheets burst in flames
as we crackled like firecrackers
lighting up the gloom

in the silence of our cooling bodies
i planted a delicate kiss
on your nape, eyes closed

uttering a silent prayer
for each sweat-soaked thread
tasting all things stale and bitter-sweet

now in cinders