Light Eyes

There a four lights eyeing me now

And I know they have a clue

What this incessant finger-heaving

Of thoughts is about,

They don’t flicker away in nonchalance

Or steal pretentious gazes,

In fact they stare, unfazed

As if in eager calculation, gawking shamelessly

Four lights stare at my fingerless words

As they claw out meaning, tirelessly

On church doors, they can’t clasp

An embrace of a prayer

Trying to turn upwards for alms

or tirelessly cupping your face in reverence

They bang, and tremble

Like cowering pieces of flesh

Bask in harsh illumination

For the world to cast pity on.

Hum

I hum away your existence
Like brushing a thought
Or shaking away a memory
There are days when it was easy
To pick you with two fingers
And toss your soiled words
In my head, there are just
Colors and whites
No wools, or lint or rubberized prints
But you stain your way
From my mouth to my favorite shirt
Like hair dye that reeks of oxygenated ego
And my verbs no longer feel like
Linking coherence, with you
Pausing like a comma between every spaces

Palm

The sun falls on my palm

Burning a hole through it

Glass

When lightning touches sand,

there is a certain anguish to its poetry

as glass, delicate by nature,

is forced to curve and glitter

in crystal motionless immortality

aching to shatter into dust again

Leaks

Tonight the moon shines the brightest

and all the water in me is rushing

restlessly from shore to sea

erasing, revealing, taunting then shying away

destroying corals into beds of sand

Where I can lie on my back

to have my place in the sky.

We trace stars for two reasons

to remind us who we were

and to chart journeys on these celestial maps

but there is a certain longing

to come home,

or just the feeling of being home

to a memory perhaps

after a long time of voyaging relentlessly

to a sea that knows no music

It rages against a moon

unashamed by its terrestrial flaws

and I am drawn in comfort

washed under this lunar apparition

as all the salt water emptied itself out

to finally bring me to sleep.

The Theory of Constant Motion

there's a dread in things rhythmic

the constant space between sounds

like breathing, the cycle of holding air

and letting out

there a pendulum in my chest

swinging in my rib cage in definite

banging, measured, exact

yet banging none the less

you can hear wings scraping inside bones

just the feather tips touching the rigid

gaps between intercoastal windows

yet like water drops on flat rocks

sometime between now and dinner

a wishbone snaps

Photosynthesis

ask me to look away

and I will
squint your sunshine lies
and pretend
the stark white words come from
moonlight
falling between cracks of my sheltered sleep

I like to think
you tuck stray strands of hair
away from my soundless soliloquy
and you listened
with the eagerness of a thirsty traveler
beside a clear bubbling stream

instead i wake up midday
sweat wrapped on sheets and skin
drapes swept aside at eleven in the morning
drenched in glaring sunlight stares
that burns cigarette pockmarks at the back of my neck

Crustacean

It scrapes my skin

poking, in sharp, abrupt blinks
wincing pain
moves me, jerks me
to a rythm
crawling in needle-like pinchers
crab claw clinging
on soft skin
as I swing my arms
to shake it off
the music burns cigarette spots
on my arms, my neck
the soft spot behind my ears
scarless wounds that hurt
all the same
till I burn in a heap
of your moving lights.

Vessels

there were those lights
between us
we were cramped into a small
space of stares and smoke
prodded by beats and vibrations
and silent whispers that
questions our being together
all those stolen glances
gossip incessantly
in mid-songs,
in the tranqulity of your arms
the chaos of yours eyes
and the stillness of the loud,
horny music
I felt the pure bliss
of being yours
light basking in and through me
music brimming my eyes
bright enough for happiness to appear
as golden glints
and an abandon of self as if drunk
from the touch of your open veins.

Waiting

Last night I waited

What is it in waiting that turns
minutes to hours and days to lifetime
the drama of darkness stirring
me like a coffee peaking in taste

I wasn't worried or anxious
more like depressed and desperate altogether
and waiting was all I can do
with only the faint glow of a rectangular light
lighting my face
and wisps of unfinished lines and lost words
fading to non-existence
and stroke of my fingers
as if paying homage to a god
sleeping
encased in clear white crystal.

The coffee stales in silent bitterness.

Headless

They hand me your head that day
and your blank face stared back
I imagine what was your last thought
your final word
that ultimate picture that flashes one last time
I never thought it would be this heavy
you had such a light smile
almost bright like a sunburst

Ice Cubes

The dark wooden panel

stood, a field to this nocturnal engagement
marked with restless elbows
and wet from drinks and beer bottles
too careless for coasters.

He heard me buy a drink

From the glass spilled the first faint
whip of intoxicated words
like drinking poetry all at once
it made no sense then
just a feeling of profundity
or was it self-abandonment?

He found words on his face

It unfastened something
like a window allowed my own trickling
till i wonder whether I am bastard
with drunk thoughts or these words a really mine

He said the ice cubes can't help but comment.

Armless

It is a sad thing for someone
so beautiful to have no arms
like standing naked under the sun
while the wind peels your face
in slow, whisks of paper cuts
lines tracing the frame of your eyes
like maps of some far away land

Your innocence is enchanting
and you move in a way that reminds me of
rippling ponds on moonlit nights or
spidercrawl on delicate webs
always a certain grace, a silent gesture
of reaching, almost touching

an alabaster statue on a pedestal
without hands, you exist to be worshipped
set under the prisitine halogen illumination

this celestial imperfecion bears bite marks
at the back of my hand, as you delicately crawl away
on your moonlit, rippling pond.

One Liter of Sleep

Let me buy you one liter of sleep

It's fascinating, how it funnels down

to mix like gas with water

always eager to disappear

in a solvent, as if in fear of being found

It may not come cheap,

and it lasts only for a few hours

but it keeps the blood viscous

enough to know when to stop

and when to come rushing

You say your dreams are leaking

through your ears,

I don't know how to stop it

I can just see it pool on our silk

pillows cases, and in the morning

I just turn them over and pretend

nothing happened

I have closed my eyes more often

to find myself excruciatingly awake

as if I'm burning from within.

The laundry woman sends her regards.

5:03 AM

03/21/11

Moonshine

Tonight the moon shines the brightest

and all the water in me is rushing

restlessly from shore to sea

erasing, revealing, taunting then shying away

destroying corals into beds of sand

Where I can lie on my back

to have my place in the sky.

We trace stars for two reasons

to remind us who we were

and to chart journeys on these celestial maps

but there is a certain longing

to come home,

or just the feeling of being home

to a memory perhaps

after a long time of voyaging relentlessly

to a sea that knows no music

It rages against a moon

unashamed by its terrestrial flaws

and I am drawn in comfort

washed under this lunar apparition

as all the salt water emptied itself out

to finally bring me to sleep.

2:56 AM.

3/20/11

Carving

There are nights when lights

melt, unwilling to be carved

that we just let it turn to

puddles.

Somewhere in the dark

we know dark branches

chisel wind in hopeless

portions,

but we enjoy the songs

they make in their insignificant deaths