"We hide behind sheets of words and sometimes find comfort on wearing them proudly. I have unbowed my bloody head with the things I have killed and revered what I have immortalized. I will continue to shield, maim, murder, pine, ponder and slave over the very words that force itself out of my body but leave its hand clutched on my still beating heart."

-Darrel Pobre

Friday, July 29, 2011

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.

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