*
We Are Nowhere and it’s Now- Bright Eyes
city of blurs by: Tey Lopez
*
from clear plastics, they swallow
an ocean that keeps them afloat.
“look, there are rafts, they will sail us home.”
under the overpass, they compare
the stars and the early christmas lights.
they sleep, hungry;
they dream, starved.
*
from the sidewalks, he writes about them
for he is the boy with toes of a soldier,
lips of the fireflies, arms of the old trees
and a heart of a gypsy,
long been dead.
*
from envelopes, she dreams of holding his hands
in front of the rice fields, facing scarecrows,
flying with mayas.
so the alarm clock is mad, she takes a shower.
he dances under the rain in slumber.
*
from her eyes, the world is road full of vehicles,
from vehicles are idle hearts,
too busy to even notice those greased faces,
fainting dreams,
in the corners…swallowing an ocean
from clear plastics full of sticky copper.
*
You see your breath in the air as you’ll climb up the stairs to that coffin you call your apartment. I kissed a boy near my house; he had a swollen lip given by his step father. He had sad empty eyes of sticky copper that reminded me of yours, a long walk we shared, talking about street kids and the future we may never have together. may never have apart.
.
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Posted by H. at September 13, 2008, 2:52 amgosh…
kudos once again, mate 
you never failed to blow me away with the puzzling words…
street children… hope there’s still that ocean for them…
:)
peace out!
Posted by ron at September 13, 2008, 9:24 pm@maurya: sometimes, i wonder how it is to be hermaphrodite. self-pollination 
thanks razor queen. *glomps*
@ron: and us,
we need to reach out our hands for them to have a feel of the shore.
salamat ng marami ron.
Posted by modernpatadyong at September 15, 2008, 7:47 am
*
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:
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“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-
I wish to be the he in every poem you write but i am a she and it’s all fucked up. haha. I am sure it feels great to be the he in your poems but i am a she and i am fucked up.
Posted by maurya at September 12, 2008, 6:20 pm