*
from Sam Somera’s woven solitudes
I: this is the 2nd time I feel free,
the 1st was when we were in Nogas Island, I sailed a boat,
I have realized that I’ve been drifting all my life.
II: the rust reminds me of the last time I attempted
to hang my self. The smell of my toes after I walked on the floor,
searching for a stick of cigarette.
III: You and you, we have to leave,
I can still see how he stomps his feet as we swung
and it still pains me why all these times, I go to places he’s from.
* for GH and JM, for simply being there when I start to hide.
.
@ben: *smiles and kicks a tire swing* 
the rust reminds me of the last time I attempted
to hang my self…
this poem smells of melancholy. maka smoke tag ahat. di lang ko smoker. lol.
we all swing. back and forth. back and forth. dungan. dili dungan. back and forth.
Posted by kimay at October 13, 2008, 6:38 pm@kim: o mag tabako ta utols 
*
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-
I have noticed this relationship you have with swings
smile more, beautiful poetess.
Posted by ben at October 12, 2008, 9:36 am