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downpour. black coffee.
friends in the teraza, singing “rooftops cry”.
ghosts from repression.
one of the best times i have lived for here,
upon this soil and wasteland
is when it rains.
i get to sleep more.
i don’t need reasons to sleep more.
and i can sleep and ignore 15 dreams that include
naps with you
kisses in-between wake-ups
and morning afters.
i get to make my bed too
change sheets three times a day
and taste the rain-spray straight from the window.
when it rains,
i cry less because
the skies
do it for me.
and when i wake up
without the sound of the raindrops,
i bounce back to that day,
i sew suns and clouds
on my knees
when my palms could no longer
be the shelter
of
these tears
and your
monsoon.
.
I always love the last drop of your poetry. It leaves me crippled.
Posted by ben at October 31, 2008, 7:33 am
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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.
*
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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-
Favor sis: be my girl and break-up with me, if that is the only way na masulatan mo ako poems
I admire you for your love sa mga simple nga hinitabo sa kalibutan pareho sang ulan.
Posted by blu at October 29, 2008, 10:35 pm