biya, tinir
10/15/08*
have you ever gone back to a place that used to stomp at your
entire life every time you see it from the long country road?
have you ever gone back and found out that everything stayed
the same: the sand, the breeze, the sun, the waves?
have you ever gone back and kicked a dead crab?
it’s good to go back to places at day time, the night time has so many tales, the stars are wonderful liars in some months.
some places are just beautiful graveyards. sometimes, you look at them with carved names when the truth is: scavengers have long eaten everything and the sea just stole the face of the sky.
then in a day, there are toes running after you,
calling you a different name,
some tan lines
have the best stories,
go ask the person you are with the next time you sit facing the sea
364 days, static
and 24 hours
kissing with somebody else in mind
.
habyog
10/11/08*
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.
.
tiyog
10/10/08*
thinking of buried memories aloud
sounds like the squeaks of old carousels,
the stark melancholy of dreaming about being the last person on earth.
the faded echoes, laughter of a love that has never ended but is nowhere.
the recorded cassette tapes from Barotac Viejo to Bukit Batok, 1991.
the first glance of the last raindrop of November and the last sunset of May.
and sometimes, it sounds like tabula rasa
like a coin fall on the floor
like a sigh of an old man playing dama against his apo
like a honk of the taxicab you did not want to get off from
or just a pee
of the earth
when you sleep all day long
repressing,
forgetting,
waking up to a new life of haste,
fewer friends
solitude
and the shortest
haircut
because the gayparlorista
was lonely
like you
* for Ghagha. for braiding my tail.
.
manso
10/9/08*
an almost made up poemstory
LET NOT YOUR RAGE OR MALICE DESTROY A LIFE
FOR INDEED HE WHO DOES NOT VALUE IT
DOES NOT HIMSELF DESERVE IT
We met because my sister had terrible diarrhea
and you were sitting near the ICU with your girlfriend hugging you tight
you had the biggest eye bags, she had the tiniest shoulders, ah no, smallest (I mean)
One grey grey night, I sat on the tiled hospital floor pretending that I was in
an eskinita and was listening to the rain from the dark alleys.
You were sitting on a bench and we began exchanging numbers after
I made you laugh about a very nasty sexual joke.
That was the only time we were so close. We exchanged messages,
you told me you were so tired of your lover and you liked to attach
an all caps I AM TIRED I AM TIRED I AM TIRED.
I’d tell you the same very nasty sexual joke when we first met and you would
send me a (‘_’)
I never had the chance to tell you about me, about how I had to mingle
with people who made me feel tired and how I had to walk at night
alone because it was better off that way.
You called me once just to tell me that you love me like how
someone can love a person he does not touch.
I never replied a thing, not because I did not like you, it’s just
it was better off that way.
But after hours, I would tell you about your eye bags and that
nasty sexual joke in the hospital.
One time, we had the chance to meet when I visited my friend
three blocks away from your house. but it never happened (it was
better off that way. yes yes yes)
You had a new girl friend that time and at 11pm you would send me
words of how happy you were with her, how her hazelnut eyes
seduced you, how her long straight hair swirled around your fingers
on a lazy Sunday afternoon
and sometimes, you would send me I AM TIRED I AM TIRED
In 5 different text messages.
I told you to have faith in love, love your self more and let your self
go at times. You would send me (‘_’) and the words
I love you like how someone loves a person he does not touch
We have not met again and it was better off that way
because maybe, I could have just made you tired if I start to just be quiet and cry
on pillows and say “it’s really my fault, I understand you, sorry sorry…”
and maybe, you could have made me tired when you start to sit on the floor
and play with your rubik’s cube without minding the world and my new poem.
We have not met at all when you sliced your wrist.
I could have told you that nasty sexual joke.
.
