30+

Kabar Angin di Sebuah Kafe

2012-01-23T12:26:00.009-06:00

Konon katanya,
Hatiku memilihmu kerna rapuhmu
Kerna lirih liku jalanmu yang keliru
Terbuyar lamunku, ragumu,
Jadi laguku

Terbetik kabar,
Tiada hak kepemilikan hati
Yang menyanyi rona sara sendiri
Mau itu pun hanya tubuh mati
Yang hantunya meniti
Seolah ada

Ini pernyataannya:
Ketika jari menyentuh bilik jantungmu
Ia juga mengarang fabel lain
Agar matamu terbawa letih mengejar
Lalu terbang terenggut angin
Ayah sejatimu

Ini pertanyaannya:
Jika ketakhirauan lahir dari hirau,
Mengapa jiwaku kelu meragu?
Atau mungkin ini baru setengah jalan
Pasti berujung, pasrah terhenti
Lalu mati?

"Pasti begitu kan?" Tanya yang satu

Di luar masih gerimis, kopi sudah habis

"Kau ini. Tahu tapi pura-pura amnesia sinetronis!"

Yang satu lagi bergerak kepingin pipis

If I could quit poetry, I would

2011-02-06T05:42:00.002-06:00

I have a psychic friend

who reads people’s faces

we hadn’t met for years,

one day, upon seeing me again,

he said, “Why? You’re a poet now?”

there was regret in his tone,

so obvious I felt it stung me

(I wonder which part of my face

had changed “poetically” for him

to say that)

it was two years ago

when I only had a thin chapbook

of eleven pieces of rubbish

I was, socially, ashamed of

while watching my students

struggling with their exams,

I wrote a poem about sea of

rickety tables and chairs

cumulated in desperation with

little fish (the students)

jumping crazily;

my colleague, who teaches

poetry, asked me a copy of

the rubbish, looking at me

with admiration

[subtext: ‘don’t you have better

things to do?’]

love poems, rubbish poems,

a poem about a left shoe

a longing

still I can’t stop wondering

where it could go wrong

about being a poet

then, heartbroken poems,

why love seems so difficult

we’re sick of it if it’s too much

go crazy if it’s too little

too tiring but it seems like

we never really learn from

that that creates panic and tears

poems that cut –

an idea too un-American

they go against what my

creative writing professor said

“a good poem should end with

‘a light coming through the blinding.’

what do you call a poem that causes

its readers to jump to the river?”

I don’t know,

Gloomy Sunday?

chatting over the messenger with

a girl-friend of mine at dawn

basically killing each other with

mockery and dirty jokes,

guys around the globe, hair,

chests, and parodied love-making

rituals, joyfully, so it seemed

then at noon a call woke me

the same girl, weeping,

brokenhearted, telling me this

Fatal Attraction-ish thing

she’d just done in the name of

love

things like this

Aristotelian tragedy / comedy

in contemporary face –

a slanted mirror

if a poem can break, can another

mend? I know a couple can

not mine, I don’t know what mine

can or cannot do; I know how some

of yours are

then there’s Ted and Sylvia,

theirs are too fast, too burning,

deadly

on and off the paper

no, let's not be Sylvia and Ted,

or anyone with such

ammunition

is it so ill-fated to be a poet?

and then, in the shower just now

I remembered an idea of a poem:

cigarettes and me –

our 'relationship' – how it feels

smooth, certain, and everlasting

kind of on and off but

everlasting

‘would it be much better if people can

love each other secretly forever?’

mmnn… it would create another

problem with consequences so scary

I quit the idea

still perhaps I can learn a thing

‘no rush, take it slow, let it flow’

…but it’s not exactly the same!

yeah right, to be a poet

what world’s problems can you solve?

if I could quit poetry, I would

2007

Every time I sit there

2011-02-03T06:21:00.001-06:00

every time I sit there, smoking,

I have some thoughts,

rambling and pastel,

merging with the weed flower

the crows in the sky,

and the dull rooftops.

I’m ashamed, you know,

seeing those cigarette butts

decomposing

with the dead copper autumn leaves.

what would I say to sanity, for instance,

or to my old green veins which

seem to get along well with the

purple yarn of my cardigan?

it’s still cold, you see,

and having a cup of earl grey

is as plastic and drunk

as the questions in my head.

no promises can be made here

but songs can be rewritten and sung.

I hate the smell of the smoke on my body

it always makes me feel, well, dirty

but it can stay there for a while

and when I speak, it’s in the same tone

and pace, the same amount of ellipses,

borrowed joy and learned pride, too

so it might as well be nothing.

I meet the water color version of you

in every coordinate of the cloudless sky

and the breeze, hatefully or playfully

(I can never tell, but it doesn’t matter),

blows the smoke back onto

my freezing cheeks and fingertips.

“what halts you now?” says the weed to Spring,

“the squirrels are nowhere to be seen.

is it the emptiness, again?”

the crows cry way up there,

the wind stops grazing,

I put off the last flickers, and,

for a moment, all that pulse

stop pulsing. haze.

“Save me some of it; this

madness should end somehow.”

and it does end,

every time I sit there,

smoking.

2006

you

2011-02-03T06:19:00.001-06:00

until they melt

you don’t stop

in any way

you, there

and nowhere

until they end

you thrive

wants don’t stay

longer than

heartbreak

you brush

this chapter

on and off

until I simply am

a symptom

wet soil

on your sole

one rainy day

you stomp,

leaves fall

until I subside

dew on your window

wounds healed

and opened

by love poems

minds tell stories

then believe

then sleep

and dream

then forget

inanity

until a night walk

wakes me up

to revive this

until I dissolve

in light

lightness

you breathe

you stay

you

2006

to none of you

2009-01-14T00:47:00.003-06:00

the essence of your last words has betrayed what was written
or, rather, I was the one who sneaked in just enough to see you’re
alive, still writing and reviewing and asking to click your links,
still quoting dead men’s wisdoms in an effort to bury your fears of
being told that you’re a crying baby at the church’s door,
of being abandoned by your surrogate mothers
that you collected at the departure gates, campus dormitories,
cramped bedrooms, clogged toilet drains, silent tunnels
I left that day because I wanted to visit you in silence
knowing, now, that you were the joker all along
disguised in a sad, white outfit you loved to wear
remember who had the last words? you
because there are days when words struck me as
irrelevant

now you know I, too, was the joker all along

A cat story

2008-08-04T01:55:00.007-05:00

The middle earth

When I still didn’t know how to write, what to write, I wrote to you. Reality had long been a boogeyman so it did not really matter whom I wrote to. Me, keeping your friendship was absurd and real. Without you? Perhaps life would have been just a little less.

Awalnya…

Your sadness was a sticky substance in my hands, very inconsiderate. My lungs couldn’t do much but to respond to and falsely justify.

Akhirnya…

Aku bercerita tentang aku yang mengerti. Kepastian dalam hidup hanya ada di balik tirai-tirai ketidakpastian yang pastinya harus tersibak agar kita lewat. Jalan terus, seberapapun lambat dan cepatnya. Aku mengerti bahwa life, hidup, urip, leben… adalah kebosanan yang akan digugah oleh tragedi dan serpih-serpih bahagia yang sementara. Kebosanan yang tak terusik oleh senyum manis di bibir dan segala kegamangan akan harapan. I am freakin’ bored. Which also means that I’m boring.

dan...

Once I told myself: Roo, you are one piece that’s never boring, and will never be. Because you never got into my routine. Kita yang mereka sebut platonik. Kau satu-satunya romantisme yang masih ingin kupeluk. Karena aku sudah lelah dengan semua cerita bahagia dan kata-kata indah tentang mimpi-mimpi. Kata-kata yang tak hendak membawa manusia melewati batas akhir khayal. Nonetheless, your one-time-ness was due. You grew ancient in years. Kita, yang mereka sebut tai kucing.

Masih akhirnya (kah?)

There's sunshine, the yellow cat says, indoors.

It all

2008-05-23T13:53:00.010-05:00

The Lover
I will not save you from the penalty. Are you not my lover still, and you know what to do in times of trouble, O Brave One? This is my house, these are my friends. My car needs repair, my young needs her tea fixed. Help yourself with anything. Flap the duster or something.

The Mud
They cannot watch the final tonight because the power is off. In the dark, we mind to star gaze and talk about dead things, and a little bit about future - similarly nonexistent. But they tread on in the rain, covering the dead with leaves and mud. I thought I saw your face in the puddle.

The Taxi
Llyod-Webber's Music of The Night on the radio. Weird - that should've only happened with imaginings. She is pregnant with his baby. There on the back seat, another man is necking with her. City lights and passersby sing amorously. Seven minutes before the murder.

The Question
No answer. The usual letting go. Who's gonna do the dishes, the ironing? Who's gonna lock the door? Why are you here? Why are you still here? You. You. You are not him. You love me. It's the system of Eject.

The Ghosts
After the burning of the witches, what has become the forest? The water washed away the ashes. The wet grass and the cricket, deep in thought.

the camera

2008-04-25T09:12:00.002-05:00

your finger touches the button of the red camera in my hands that shout joyfully from the caress of your skin. your dry tips on my calm pretense. the shutter winks at the inessentials, like the fact that you are not mine alone. the camera, and what it misses capturing, lets them live uncropped so that hope travels afar. that and a promise that I will sip your strong coffee when everything else blurs.

theatre of the absurd - 2

2008-03-27T17:50:00.000-05:00

two stupid women in a stupid conversation on a bike
one with breasts hard from breast-feeding,
the other with newspaper headlines stuffed in her bra
you know the problem with you is that you know too much
the one in pain tells the other one
who instantly remembers Jack, who
was born when he was fourteen

she chews her bubble gum wrapper,
feeling ticklish in her upper-middle part,
but suddenly remembers where her lost pen really is
all I care is to be with money
to travel to Alaska and eat those poison weeds
but i don't know where I am going
she doesn't know where she's headed

she needs to be with her baby soon but
the other one wants to touch her alien baby,
to rip up the agony of maternity and mommy-hood
it's all insane, when one cannot even buy gasoline,
she's barely, barely chronometrable!
the problem with you is your clogged ears
one says to the other (don't matter which)
the brain should be minced well
the head should tilt, equally well

if they're lucky, the next thing that'll come in their way
is a cargo truck full of Christmas presents
if anything happens to their heads,
like brain knockout or sumthin,
they'll be on the track to happyness

stupid is pretty clever these days
(meanwhile, they're wet, sticky, and smell like
milk)

theatre of the absurd - 1

2008-03-15T19:24:00.013-05:00

the rain is still falling
the old house is crying
year after year
idiots don't read signs

but I am looking at your children's faces
small as they are, how thin and blank
I'm trying not to be bothered by their
stinking unhappiness

next agenda of this global warming thing:
spreading the rumor of your misbehavior
of your not learning anything from the
damaged, puddled road
how it ended your husband's life
of what has made your stinking children

at tea time, they chat leisurely and
drink cups of rainwater
their faces yellowing
the vegetables on absinthe
forget, forgot, forgotten

Girls talk

2008-02-25T09:16:00.004-06:00

Oh La La cafe, Saturday evening
It was good not to know anybody
Besides, I had my back on almost everybody

We talked in between our chicken salads
And hot caramel latte
This isn't just mentioning or list-making
This is so that you taste what we tasted

But you couldn't
It was a raisin from heaven
Not to have a soul to tell a secret

You are not that lucky, no
To have what I have
To find what I found

To be NOT with the other half of you
To have not slept with it
The truest, the closest to your
Beautiful death bed

rain

2007-12-27T07:39:00.001-06:00

rain. again.
the young man is talking to his buddy
in a flooded hallway
too polite to sit on the white plastic chair
too pointless
the botanist and the weatherman
finger-counting what grows
and what collapses in the rain

here, where water comes from every direction,
the piece of ceiling that keeps you dry
is your darling friend. the cry over the phone
of your brokenhearted sister is a dream
you once dreamed.
the man to whom she's betrothed is
an unfounded myth - soon will be
washed away

fear is time-constrained
the water, the earth, the marriage
the demolition under the mud,
what's put to sleep - or who -
the history of love/life,
quietly decoded

worn

2007-12-05T08:37:00.000-06:00

what in hell happens to the water running free?
this morning I lived up the unhappy session
laughing at the blocked flow
my canoe bumping around
"why those tears," one asked
oh, I've got million things to say
but it wouldn't be necessary
a redundancy, I should say
time is precious, is it not?
but who can predict
perhaps someday I really will stop
running away
or be stopped by a current

the spool

2007-10-24T13:30:00.000-05:00

when the grey clouds swarm over my head,
I just move an inch away from your soul
we’ve learned to march on, we part, we hesitate
your dark side knows why a song climbs to a climax
then, your decrescendo and
the tinkling of my empty glass on the table

which spool is playing now? our bodies lie still,
un-betrothed, thus the story goes, thus the story will end
ears impaired by cries of the souls groping for the light
your eyes grow tired, my words do little to ease up
our symmetrical margins keep building and collapsing

we pretend we’re innocent of the fraud
we don’t say that we need to destroy to live

this is for another repetition, now moving in lethargy
heavy-eyed, untangling the night
from this prison cell

stupid longing,
when one is allowed a good sleep?

tea

2007-10-11T18:20:00.000-05:00

cinnamon orange tea, with a slush of Midwest fall
in the white “Wizard of Oz” cup
it’s going down the sink – the tea
it’s going to fly out of the window – the cup
your hand has committed crime of neglect
it has lost its authority to hold up or down
my sanity – all that can keep
a good glass of tea from being wasted

of the so many things we’re guilty of
there is sour we left in each other’s insides
what you’ve left you may not lay claim to
what I threw up is what I’d betrayed

past winter, past the dead souls
I’m not yet okay though I shun
those who read the signs on me
what do they know?
what do you know of the lives of
the blood suckers?
I hide from the white lights

cinnamon orange tea in the cup that still holds up
my hands know the warmth and are patient
after all, they won’t wait forever
nothing will – we’re all bound to
have a sip before we go

en route to J-town

2007-09-22T01:12:00.000-05:00

dirty laundry we dump elsewhere
this hotel room,
these thoughts of quitting,
restarting, these rented
whispers in the ear,
those looming dark clouds over me -
are to be read
time to go

home,

the elsewhere
endometrium

a souvenir for my babies

2007-08-12T21:56:00.000-05:00

maybe it was you who put the
daffodil under my window
didn’t you hear what I said?
I could not pick it up
I could not read the intention
and fathom the death
or live with your ghost

you, in my history,
should remain an unjustified
anecdote, but what is rumor
if not meant to tease those
whose eyes would better be
blind?

maybe it was you I meant
to write on the pages
with a borrowed pen and
a tender rub on the skin
maybe it was you I shared
a bed with, on the day when
everybody else was sleeping
maybe it was us who lay awake,
active, restless,
always wanting to run,
always wanting to fly

maybe it was me who wanted
to perch on your tree
maybe it was me who walked
across your way only to be
murdered, maybe it was you
who read the ill signs
then spread the rumors

what are rumors if not
for us to expose and hide
and continue living?

others, in our history,
should remain blind

a flip-flop song

2007-07-17T20:53:00.000-05:00

perhaps we create you and me
to make life more bearable
but who are you? who am I?
we don’t even see each other again
did you see the new shade on my lids?
and I didn’t witness a hair coming
it’s all random pictures
you look awful with hair, I tell you,
your pony tail is not sexy
but you never listen
I know I make you happy
like yesterday
when we called each other by our
diminutive (some genitalia) names
have I told you you write better
when you’re happy? and I – I,
contribute to that?
at other times we fight
we bleed, we hide the blood,
we annoy each other less,
but say countless of “shoot,” “shit,”
“fuck,” and “stupid”
and more and more desperate
poems are produced, re-produced,
discarded, and wept over
we become agnostic of each other

I don’t remember your smell – I mean
your true smell, because you dab perfume
over your sweaty body
over the smell of another woman’s sex
on your body -- all of those
go all the way into my
intestines

I’m sure you’ve forgotten the pain
of me pulling the hair in your arm
I'm sure you've vomited me

and I read you reply:
Agnes, shut your fuckin mouth up!

.

2007-06-04T16:05:00.000-05:00

those pictures speak
aloud. they holler
they make fun of
me. aku. stupid.
that ballerina on
your lap
the crotch
one of my legs
used to rest on

Life in the morning

2007-06-02T18:33:00.000-05:00

Life was her name. She woke up this morning to find out that she was only half of her. She went to the mirror to see if it was still deceptive as said in many references she had read. The mirror is deceptive, my dear. No. Especially her fingers from that surviving half of her could feel the rough edges of what used to be her middle part, seen vertically. Shit! How am I gonna drink my coffee like this? She started out with the walk, of course. It was always a good sign of independence. Look at babies! On your foot! She looked at her toes – the nails were painted metallic green from the night before. She only half remembered, but her only half mouth still could taste that Paulaner beer she deplored yet couldn’t resist her buddies had brought in. I think I danced a bit, yes. And probably hit my head against the poker table last night. Who knows? Her half-regained consciousness reminded her to stop bothering about the past because it wasn’t there anymore anyway. Walk. Walk. Walk. … No. That couldn’t be it. That was not how to call it now that she only had a half head and face, half torso, a leg, a foot, an arm – a whole half body. Walk, according to the American Oxford Dictionary is "move at a regular and fairly slow pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once" … no shit. So big deal. She learned how to move from one spot to another, to put it simply. She hit a wall and all, but she managed to get to the kitchen. Brewing a cup of coffee was a pretty tough quest with her unpardonable situation. But she laughed. She wished she could slice the cup in halves to have “a half cup of coffee” just like Alice in her insane tea party with March Hare and Mad Hatter. While waiting for her half cup of coffee to be ready, Life motioned to the glass sliding door, opened the blinds and the door, leaving the screen door shut just enough to make her feel the cold breeze. She felt pain in her improperly cut parts. There was a price for curiosity. But go on keep your curiosity alive. You’ll get cuts and bruises as a bonus! Was it the meaning behind that narcissistic cat’s grin? She wondered. Chesire Cat. How could a warning be tempting? How tedious, she thought. That was a game she had learned for quite a while. She carved a grin on her half face with some difficulty. There. Smile at your own misery. Her only nostril smelled the coffee and her ear heard no more hiss from the coffeemaker. It pumped her a bit. She walked back to kitchen. With ease. With a simple joy of having been able to brew a half cup of coffee. Walk? Of course. Didn’t I tell you she got pumped up? Though not entirely, no! Why ‘most’ if you can get enough with some ‘more’? Life is not whole yet, but it is not half either. Life is three-quarter with just a missing 'f'.

[april 12, 2007]

and so

2007-06-02T15:29:00.002-05:00

do you want this bread or not?
it smells like and gives the same effect as
beers you don't drink
it's waiting to be thrown away

when we were at the railings,
looking down at those fancy chairs
and napkins, and heads,
what were we laughing at?
the coffee that didn't quite go
with me wondering if you
were a gay or not?
the occasion that was
almost as stupid as what it
turned out much later?
what i had read from the start
missing from your face and
your palm?
you were like passion fruits,
you noticed?

what we do. instead of.
instead of. you never did.
fun as always. pain as always.

i can only curse
i can only love
and hesitate in between

don't be

2007-06-02T15:29:00.001-05:00

don't be a stranger, love
just go away now while i still
smell your perfume in my hair

when you go, love
leave a random journal on
a tombstone with a name
- a history you whispered
as morning crept in
take no notice of
what i'm keeping

move my leg tenderly
i'll do the rest
you sneak out
away i turn from you
run if you will
the wind dries away
the wet on the face

don't be a stranger, love
ghost in my haunted ship
the sweet, the love, the
careless jerk
you

then and now

2007-04-04T15:44:00.000-05:00

i'm an alumna of "life is heavy" school
do you remember?
when dad died of lies and heavy pills
and mom died alone, eyes not properly
shut. do you remember?
i was so attentive. sickly but
serene, and attentive
you made poems of me like i
ceased to be living
i rented a big love to you
you wouldn't be able to
pay me
i fed your eyes with longing
for my saliva
where were you when i was
on my death bed?

"life is so light" said the doctor
it is only an outline,
a dwarf's wish to kiss the
giant's forehead
so where are you now when i'm
all right and tentatively happy?
what do you fill your pockets with?
will i find you on the riverbed?

we'll play with my hat on

2007-03-26T12:42:00.000-05:00

i know this game
and i still want it

looks like ee's a knee breaker
so? even better!
i can exercise my new
theories
both of us will play
ping pong during the day
the loser will swear at
the winner, who will
fuck ee before leaving
we'll take partners
and be kind enemies
we'll keep the table
green and white
we'll bump
and injure knees

we'll rest in the evening
what's my detail, doctor?
what's her detail? wait,
maybe i know
i'll crawl on the mirror
up to ee's knees

we will kiss
we will hate
we will die alive
be a lover of mine, monster!
keep playing. let's keep playing,
even if my theories prove wrong

lame game

2007-03-20T18:33:00.000-05:00

i catch your eyes
catching mine
nothing
was it the words
coming out from
my mouth?
was it my mouth -
which moves at my
brain's command?
was it my white lace?
or my curls?
nothing?

i say things you pretend
you can say back
you spell formulaic words
you think i want to hear

"i'm all yours from now on,"
said you. ah, you!
"what should i say, thank you?"
you laugh uneasy laughs
you can't lie better,
can you?
admiration
differentia
may i shrug it off
my shoulders?
this is too predictable
this is too sweet
this is so you-people

one of these days
i'll stop passing judgments
i'll come towards you
i will touch you

the hell with angry glares
we'll break nothing -
almost
no need to fret
my want of you is strictly
limited. our rent is
almost due

x devalued

2007-03-08T22:54:00.000-06:00

we don't need us,
not anymore
we have our own depths
too deep for each of us
to dive into without
damage
safety, one-life-ness,
it doesn't decode
as it used to
i have seeds inside
my earth, you have
chlorophylls elsewhere
to sing for with your
warm secret codes
your sickness,
or its illusion,
is only a night's
drunkenness
i've got my change
spent on smalls,
cigarettes,
stuffed animals
my name you call
only in the dark
it hits the wall -
cold, uncaring wall
you wondered,
you wished, but
you didn't touch
i did, i did then. so,
though i smelled your
ghost in the bus
yesterday afternoon,
i took no steps

you should remain one
with no material substance
i'm your reasonable mute

that boy's grudge

2007-02-21T02:21:00.000-06:00

i saw him
coming out of the
yellow building
take my nearsightedness,
my lighting up a cigarette,
his sexually based grudges -
i acted otherwise

hey boy, have i hurt you somehow?
what's all this shit about?
i thought it'd been done with
what are you, some
Prince of Baghdad?
did I leave a stain on
your rug?

need. need. now.
i know. come if we have
the same. either way,
it's a regret. though
not so much

he's been all over me
so i smoke him away
half-running across the street,
he leaves the yellow building
for my eyes to lick

fed up

2007-02-13T22:16:00.000-06:00

to be honest with you,
i really am sick of you
so sick i got to move
to a distant table when
that stupid mentioned
your name

among all other tedious things
there's food i've got to finish here
that shouldn't be called in vain
my grace, if ever i say it,
is not for you

true loves do end
we do get things up to the neck

my ride

2007-02-06T20:55:00.000-06:00

this way to get to my van
it's messy i hope you don't mind
what sports do you do?
i'll teach you racquetball one of these days
yes, i'll be a good teacher for you
we'll go to my place on wednesday
rehearse in my garage
we can get something to drink
after that
i'll pick you up,
i'll get you home
you're from india, am i wrong?
so what's your plan?
do you have a boyfriend?
oh, i'm sorry
yes, i do have a girlfriend
we've been dating for four years
she's been asking me to marry her
but i'm holding back
married-folks-stop-being-cool club?
movies'll be great
let's do that
i'm glad i'm taking you home
you know i can take you every day
just give me a holler if you need me
you don't go to campus every day?
well, catch you later, agnes!

wind! wind! wind!

we kids

2007-01-29T22:57:00.000-06:00

i'm a kid
when i'm with you
you, a little less

you're a kid
i wanna teach you
make a collage
from your mess

your tears
my blood
your fucking pride
my years
your tongue
my fingertips
your smell
my lies
your hand
on my belly

we're kids
we're lying here
mad and
naked

what how

2007-01-20T13:50:00.000-06:00

what? you fucked too hard or what?
he said. jokingly, of course.
fuck off! I said.
it’s weird. to talk like this,
with him. the way we are now.
hope you’re ok by now though
betrayal can be easy and sweet
when you’ve come to this stage
I’m not bleeding no more,
got my color back and all
that – if you’d like to call it a
betrayal at all

[recently I dragged a friend into
my grey area, its different shades
guess it made her dizzy
she didn’t get it, but who does?
“see, it’s not easy to love me,” I said.
“yet he passed it. completely.”
wasn’t easy. was crazy. completely.
“how? by setting you free?”
and that rose tattoo on his chest
sorry, Hun. gotta be stuck there
for the rest of your life!]

I am good, celebrating life at my own
British-radio-drama pace
I still love the same people dearly
love them again and again and again
I just ain’t in love with any of them
or anyone new in particular
flings and coffees (and a few smacks)
is all I can afford
this is still the time and place
I don’t belong

hey, about that ugly mattress, I said,
throw it away when I get home
he protested, saying that he and his
Belgian lady friend never did it there
oh, men! whatev, but

a whole new, nice bed is all I want
when I get home
all other things can wait
so what? and how?
this. this, my dears.

(not too) bad

2007-01-20T13:47:00.001-06:00

after all, that wasn't all that bad
your frustration is not my problem
this morning,
despite those shitty things,
you did one thing just right

[when you whispered let it go in my ear
you didn't really listen, did you?

I forgave you. you're safe by me

how about that?

so much you've gotta learn -

again, it's none of my business]

it was

your arms
your hands
you took me
my skin

givin up under the blue blanket
like unborn babies

bad

2007-01-20T13:46:00.001-06:00

this is just a rant
after something bad
no regret, well,
a little perhaps

after deciding to go bad
why could I not be the best of that?
how could I stand being
moderately bad?

I was bad
I couldn't make you bad enough
I should have
I have years and more ahead
what's of that?

what bad is
I don't feel bad
about your bad feeling
we were solos,
that time, bad ones

if I'm asked how I felt
it was down there
no fakes, honest!
my chest wasn't burning
but something else was
down there

too bad even that
you found bad

too bad I couldn't hide it
that, yes, you were bad
couldn't you stand it?

you were bad
I was bad, I wasn't bad enough
that was bad!

over

2007-01-20T02:24:00.000-06:00

i am buried
with the old edition of you
at the bottom of
the log,

under the title
"you,
may blue"

yellowing

again, light a fire

2007-01-18T20:11:00.001-06:00

summoning the winds
from four directions

fire dance time,
my friend
burn

this is ephemeral
this feeling
this is soon gonna be
ashes

fullness is never
death

burn-dance
the seduction of the flesh

have you ever got to know
Musashi?

Tuesday November 21, 2006 - 02:30am (CST)

as we were walking

2007-01-18T20:09:00.000-06:00

my hand in yours,
we knew
no such thing
as truth or closure

we are wild
immeasureably
even when we cry

perhaps that's why
we needed dogs to
bark at us,
hands to slip,
water to fill in
our indecency
to stop running and
hold our breaths,
playing dead to fool
the dogs

we are wild,
obscenely wild,
so delicious in
the mouths

why nothing escaped me
as we walked,
your ego in my hand
fucking mine

Friday November 24, 2006 - 04:28pm (CST)

a sting of sadness

2007-01-18T20:06:00.000-06:00

your suspicion
your story-telling mind
have got me hurt

but i'm taking all the blame
how often have i fed your head
with the wrong images of me
playing with them,
mixing them up, to the point
where the wrong became
somehow right

i wanted to see
if you'd crack

and you did,
of course you did
you were as weak as
i was

acting like cattle
breaking through the fences
whose teary eyes were there?

didn't matter
doesn't

we're left ashamed of
meaning-making
of having ever thought of
our gastronomical beings
to each other

we're strangers,
to make it all easier

with that i'll leave you

Friday December 1, 2006 - 07:44pm (CST)

of course not

2007-01-18T20:05:00.000-06:00

what do you think about
Babel? how do you read
the balcony scene?
the naked girl and her father?
do you feel how i feel?

have you seen The Couple in the Cage?
does Coco Fusco fit the picture?
Is Gomez-Pena savage enough?
do you feel offended?
how do you read my grin?
do you feel how i feel?

now I assume you know Basquiat
what grains did he go against?
do you understand his resentment?
do you think he was an avant-gardist?
do you think he cared?
do you know why i think
the avant-guard is dead?

do you know the meaning of your
charity? your modern machinery?
can you stand Border Brujo?
drinking a bottle of Herbal Essence?
do you feel how i feel?

you are inside the white bus across the desert
i don't think you have the idea

Thursday December 28, 2006 - 02:08pm (CST)

wossername

2007-01-18T20:04:00.001-06:00

you're holding yourself back
step out a bit
to see where you're at
how funny things are
contradictions
desperations
what for? 'til when?
but for who?

in the kitchen last night
we scaled love
but we never got it right
never do, do we?
nay, this isn't a kitchen-sink
theory, hell no

in the kitchen last night
there was fear of cultivating
thoughts of days going by,
unnoticed existence
how to defrost sighs?
miseries? resentment?

this is right in itself --
whatever we have is
a perfect apology as always
you walk away or
you stay put and wait
for a release
sway a bit perhaps?
we can do that

marriage? marriage.
my indoors nasal allergy

step out a bit
the air tickles
the back of your ears

mask

2006-12-20T13:43:00.000-06:00

people with thick makeup,
what do you reveal?
what do you hide?

plus

i am making my body
subject of this observation
stretching it, molding it,
making it unpretty

unsuspecting gals,
i am watching you
i peek under your skirt
to see how many inches are
your feet away from the ground,
i listen to ways you laugh,
i take notes of hints of
torments and,
if i'm lucky enough, of
blemishes uncorrected
by your N6 L'Oreal

i don't care much of why's
this is only a beginning

step on the catwalk and shine
i'm an attentive curator to
only what you reveal
thus, what you hide

inspire me!

to R

2006-11-07T17:37:00.000-06:00

this should sound
truthful to you
although
i do have doubts
on the so called

marriage

it's a big thing
you're taking
not all could
or would

see how we really
do have to forget
about big bro Adam
and take "it"
[sometimes i want to
jump into his head,
really, to see this
17-year-old
yippieyay kid who
rules his world]

i wish you
happiness
although i myself
am struggling
to see what it means
with my already
blurred sight
i hope you see it
with more clarity -
you and your
bride

what else can a sis do?
and i'm so far away
not even able to
send Marvel comics
you love so much
[you, kid!] as a gift
by the way,
what does she say
about this fetish
of yours?

send my love to mom -
yea, she's my mom too
and lil bro Rocky
who's so big, cool, and
smelling so good

what a family we have
what would you tell your
wife and kids about it all?
when you get stuck in
the amputated notions of
normalcy as we do
at certain points? times
when you make yourself
an unheroic bastard?

our family legacy

fear not
it's less tough for us
than it was for them
to navigate a tragedy
[as it sometimes is a
comedy in three acts
we should be good at
by now]

this is a gift from your
embittered sister
who still dreams a lot
[oh yea!]
she, whose marriage is
in a vacuum,
whose crazy tendencies
often entangle her,
still walks with a
slingbag stuffed with
hopes

believe me

and yes, this is a
gothic wedding wish
[longing for a light]
for both of you

have a happy [?mysterious?] marriage, bro!!!

sundae

2006-11-03T12:46:00.000-06:00

i'll be seeing you
on good sunday
no need money
not anybody
just black curtains
and staring eyes

cupcake moist
browniesclay
mold you
mold me
toffeechipped
sweetcold on
babytongues
on this good
sunday

[post script:
donttellher, or
is it rather
donttell'em?]

Nov3

muse

2006-10-29T15:56:00.000-06:00

[to greens]

to poke your
funny curiosity

me?

a muse,
Greek mythology,
you know,
with apples
dangling on
my flowing hair
i'm reflected on
the pond -
his
there
narcissus
and his

muse

a bitch,
if you will

my take

thirdworld dorothy

2006-10-27T16:08:00.000-05:00

and so i perch
on a street divider,
take off the wings,
some mess
for another day
high heels kill me
(take platforms
AWAY!)

love299645,
checked

i walk
cigarette lighted
barebreasted
crossing to be
falling in rain

not Oleanna

2006-10-23T16:46:00.000-05:00

i went straight home
bearing in mind
limits of doing things

that was before
the simple presence
of another DNA evidence
soaked in blood
my hands got hold of,
trembling

can i stand behind
my own 'cultural' limits?

a certain repertoire
strikes you as a limit case
so uncalled for
or is it a 'perfumance'?
must be. must be.
its nauseating summon
of the spirit

tell me, Henry,
this thing should not
go to the updated list
of bibliography,
should it?
thing as disturbing?

am i losing focus again,
Henry?

a thing deciphered

2006-10-23T01:38:00.000-05:00

sad ashes belong
to the have-nots
you're not

was i not
clairvoyant?
goosebumps,
itchiness,
80-buck therapies,
my dead laptop
preceding all
that had happened
(or perhaps i was just
a little sick)

but not unfounded

excorcism
at peace

it's a haha moment
now, is it not?

'labuhan'

sail the ashes to
the south sea,
first class ticket
look up to the sky
kites of butterfly
hankies

broken white

2006-10-21T00:27:00.000-05:00

on my part too
two
a GREAT confidante
an advice, mine
tainted

proved to be true
when it was all
late

"you shouldn't have gone
in december"

but how exactly would
the story have
changed?

doesn't matter

just maybes

textures

on the same
leather-likeness
we put on

the glass

2006-10-20T11:34:00.000-05:00

in a tea stall with a friend
years back
talking about emptying
my glass,
adding more tea,
sugar or bitter
Kahlil Gibran charmed
our young hearts,
inxperienced,
thirst for a stroke on
the breasts
and rampant
fire to dust
of poetry-songs
beers and rain and
the guys' hands
capable of tearing off
shirts, virginity, and
dancing with piano,
guitar, and violin
with our voices
with our bodies

then of course
broken glass incident
years, subsequently,
i couldn't read from
her eyes when they said
she wasn't virgin
therefore she was
undeserving
underselling Mary, her
bearing a child
no physical wounds
no fire for the eye
out of sight, now
out of touch
songs depleted
from our chords,
archived or just
gone

over ten years and
still in this teadrinking
business, growing old,
never trained
to be experienced
except to be more
mechanical
just let my glass
blackteastained,
keeping it away
from uncaring dust,
boredom&co.
my fingers
my palms
get in touch with
some kind of
warmth

remember

2006-10-20T02:20:00.000-05:00

how did you remember my birthday?
she asked

one year passed
distance uncrossed
what did i forget?

i must've dropped 'em
while i was rushing
through the crowds
and city lights,
through cold winds
and browniesdesires

things i forgot
to remember your birthday,
my girl

in the fitting room

2006-10-17T23:38:00.000-05:00

goin’ somewhere, honey?

quitting a roller-coaster after

an upset stomach, for another

no more of that Frost’s vintage

yellow wood [chuckles]

but this is contemporary

“the adventure

of a cerulean leather belt”

looking divine with chocolat

waist to waist?

curvy to straight

sweat to sweat

walk on, cat

[flutters]

fab!

is it too tight? does it look good?

teal or burned orange?

how do you feel?

the mirror may lie,

like I

walk on, cat

then, ½ modulation

to the next season