*
A little place in the Wilderness- Memphis
they were asking me if which is first:
the sea, or the longing for it.
the hills, or the grasses on their surface.
there,with two of those who woke up earlier than they used to just to hear me giggle
J
He hides an attic in his heart,
at night, he takes out the railroad, frees a starfish from a bottle of gin,
rolls weed and memories with its smoke. he cherishes everything
as long as it is outside the window: a lonely tree carved with arrows, a tire swing,
a long road where you can see a little store with a blue roof, a broken tv antennae.
he had pot sessions with Cobain and
Karen. I taught him once how to let the raindrops dance on his palm,
like a boy he tongued the rain, told me his palms
are too calloused, reigned by tar.
G
He called me yelling “sis, i did it, i did it!!!”
I could see his mother’s curlers and pedicure from his voice and could hear
his father’s whistle from the way he plays with his slippers
as he bid adieu. It rained that day in the city and he missed a rock gig
because of his undone laundry. he got lost letting the raindrops dance on his
palms. When the call was over, I ate mugs and drank plates thinking
how a 5′9″ saw long-legged tiny nymphs between his fingers.
K
She has never given up on letting raindrops tango on her palms.
She never will.
They taught her how to tuck pain in without having
to pretend that she has flawless skin and a flat stomach.
a strong zipper.
~
i can still feel the mud, still smell the clouds on my shoulders, still taste the sailboats,
still hear the strums and the vibrations.
.
I agree with the comment above. Poetry seems to be your mother tongue. Oh I miss your sensual poetry. (you know what I mean 
)
@kimay: ssshhhh… maghold nako ron sa akong skirt ug magsway sway 
hoy imong panulat payter oi, ug maayo ka pa mgkanta ug magpityur ug magdrawing. sayaw sa bangko beh!
@maurya: you think so? piss me off or listen to me speak in my own dialect and you might forget >> “littlest form of respect” 
what? pardon? come again? hahaha.
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
---
---
and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
----------------------
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
you play with words in most brilliant ways imaginable. ig magbasa ko sa imo during the mornings murag gipintalan akong buntag ug awe. (=
Posted by kimay at September 7, 2008, 9:17 am