"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

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Palm Reading

There is a certain gravity to burnt hands
a weight in motionless skin literature
grooves leading to sky
some to sea
some to stay puddled 
in frozen epithelial sleep
destined side by side
with amalgamated fleshy web

When the soot is gone
and the debris bury themselves in linings
blackened fingertips
can once again trace palms in braille
can cup faces
in a smoothness of stretched silk
without leaving traces of anything
but a lingering feeling of weight
of something fashioned by force
that can only come alone from fire


10.25 PM 
01.29.15

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Between Punctuations

Longing is a book sealed in plastic
waiting to breathe between fingertips
its pages aching to stretch
to be flipped, to be folded
to be fanned near eager faces
to be heard
to be inhaled deeply
chapters needed to be arched, 
and soundless groaning
wait with every lines the spine take
side glances are wisps of verbal scents
that escape
that taunts the resurrection of 
yellowing scotch tapes to find
new graves under the table
but until I hear
myself tell stories before my bedtime
and finish my sentences before
I get distracted with my next meal
Before written words are drowned
with the ones that are spoken
It will remain in transparent paralysis
and so Wanting is a stack of stories
perfectly lined, properly spaced between paginations
perpetually hungry between punctuations 
beside each others smooth covers
and unwrinkled paper bellies.

12.16 AM
Jan. 12, 2015



Friday, July 25, 2014

No Difference

we stick our pain with bunny ears
mix tears with pink striations
we colour far beyond the lines
to hide the dirty lesions
we laugh and cough much louder now
to choke on quick pretentions
but still we linger back and forth
the space between our visions 
and soon again, we’re at standstill
to pause in quick reflection
the same amount of blood appears
between our torn midsections.

9.08 pm

June 08, 2014

Binding

we cast a spell on moonlit skies
an eve past your creation 
incense have filled both our eyes
and blurred all our intentions
the breath, the sighs, the long goodbyes
have sought an apparition
to come once more, the distant cries
that sparked our deconstruction 
the fingers drum like fireflies
enraptured with attraction
aflame it roars, and soars and flies
without a destination
between the haze, the fire dies
in ash it seeks reclusion
and now we pay the hefty price
three times in its completion.

3.52 PM

July 25, 2014

Sunday, July 13, 2014

White Wine

I want to daze off mid-beer
I’d still be laughing and nodding
but my mind would be fizzing out
like bubbles off my drink
and I mentally roll my eyes
till I get a hang-over headache

What is wrong with me?
I think I’m lonely

Snipping your hair with my fingers
under the chair
and we are an arm’s apart
with laughters from a nearby table

I bunny hop in lights
and smile for the camera

Remember that slow dance
we murmur and hum
and it was just as were still
suspended with breaths
bouncing back and forth

somewhere, a tornado is born in utter, imploring
silence

somewhere, there are sand slipping between slippers

somewhere, there are necessary blurring that
come in focus 

and I’m not sure if I want to have kids
It might be just a reaction to the chocolate
undertone of this red wine

I just need to hear you say that
you don’t love me anymore

So, I can kill your father
so I can be there for you in his funeral

needing

It is a hungry thing at 2.18 in the morning
sitting in a bench, waiting for four hours

my ear on the ground, I can still hear 
heartbeats of corpses I killed long ago.

White wine would have been a better option.


7.52 PM.
07.09.2014

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Stitched


Your blood is soaking my feet
and from a distance I hear you
break your heart into pieces
large enough for you to stitch again
like you've done repeatedly before
always on the cusp,
but never enough to let go
your hands all red
your eyes tear stained
not like kids with broken toys
but like wingless birds
with dreams of flying
like map lines
rising and falling and plotting
pain with reason, signs with meaning
songs with feelings
and you pick up fragments
like carefully torn paper strips
like deep, immeasurable delicate sobbing
holding them up into the light
finding which ones that fit
only to find puzzle pieces that no longer belong together
Your every breath is a question
to things you know you have the answers to
you ache to be ripped apart 
and I can only watch and sing you my lullabies
so I can fill in a few painful silent moments
with the only truths I know
you thread yourself back in painful
pin prick stitching, and the sensation
is the only life that keeps you feeling
until then I wouldn't mind this bleeding
the floor pooling, it wouldn't be deep enough
for you to drown. 
breaking will only make your heart
into a sky, with stars seeping in the fine cracks
where the gaps used to be.


For you Baby J.

2.32 AM
July 3, 2014


Sunday, May 11, 2014

Too See

you've got
the nicest brown eyes I want to rip off
and eat. whole, without chewing
so my insides would be clearer to read 
like neon signs on a white artisan cafe wall

like dark coffee ink on stark white skin

washing it down with espresso so sweet
black loses its color and lends
its taste to trembling fingers
it must be that your skin
lie so well and the cream 
was too dense with froth

the stirrer wasn't stirring at all
and all I can think about are those
clumsy words, those small watery
chocolate, sprinkled
fragments that took shape and form
filling those gaps that construct
my state of necessity to be freed
from walls that cripple my senses

by the acquisition of your sight

the descent into my dark self
can only be shed light by the
brightness of your browns 
and stillness of your sunken sockets

until all of me is seen
you can leave in the only way
we know how


May 12, 2013
2.58 AM