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
mad;
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

birds

the birds
have fallen
silent
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
unkempt
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

hikbi

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

parisukat

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—

ligalig

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
dito
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.

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.

saints

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

stern-faced
carved in stone

tap tap tap

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

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

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

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

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

crimson flowers | a rhyme before bedtime

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

her lair, its there—
walls-a-breathing,
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

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:

lovely

just lovely

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

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.

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

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

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
tremble
tick
and dread
tock
the sight of the beast
finally walking
the light of a new day

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?

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.

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

roadside haiku

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

rubber-ducky

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

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