getting wet all over you

people are running,
trying to find shelter,
you watch,
you are in the middle of the road
in an island,
and you stop
you do not want to run like anyone of them
you are wet
and it is raining very hard.

been quite a time
i stayed inside of myself
probing what i am, and then

the time comes for change
i must go out of myself
and find who i am, i must

answer the questions of my heart
without the help of my mind
letting go what i feel, and

not telling, just like puffing smoke
to the air, alone, without you,
not saying anything, to the sun

it is like sitting on the side of the road
where all others stand and wait, and
you ask me, "what are you doing?"

and i tell you, "Nothing!", and then
you go your way as i stay merely
looking, loafing, nothing to do.

we claim no expertise
for this
we are not famous
neither shall we be at
all at any time
on the page of history

we assert no name
we are in fact nameless
we claim no right to a home
in fact we are nothing but freelance
hopeless romantics
insistent fanatics as you dislike us
writing about our
failures

we are here
not for anything else
we do not need any
eulogies that will last a lifetime
of mention
we do not go for
epitaphs
no tombstone

we are here because you are here
we talk.
we are here because we are hurt.
we simply express what we feel.

do not bother. we know where we are going.
do not give us importance. We are used

to our being trivial.
we are used to be used.
we are irrelevant with our syntax
we shall fail you

do not mind us.
we know how to exist.

a decision

the black bird of loneliness
hovers over the window of the house
and stops to look at
our roof

we shoo it away
there is no place here
where it can build its own nest

we still wait for the bird of bounty
the one that brings us
the eggs of grace
the feathers of happiness

it is the only bird that we welcome here
as a matter of our own decision

life makes us all a philosopher

Life is here. Did you ask why it is here?
Did you bother to know what is its real name?

Life is here. I never ask it to stay.
It stays anyway.

When it leaves, i have nothing to pack.
I leave with it. I do not leave a name.

Life has wings. Got mine too freely given.
Broken wings. Stained with my own blood.

i understand fully well
what is this agony of waiting

i'd been there
six months, and some false alarms
there were rumors
and bad news

i waited for the good news
it did not come
what arrived was something unbearable
father hid the knife
and mother asked me to listen to her

i know the agony of waiting
i know the pain of arrivals (and departures too)

i was once there
and no amount of comfort was enough
neither balm nor herb
neither drug nor injection
no amount of psychiatric treatment did cure

yet i survive
i am still here with you
silent and strong

it is our agony
and we understand.

the face
the breasts and nipples
the abdomen
the smoothness of the skin
down to the last details
of the body
the middle and the bottom
the legs
and veins and toes and nails
all these dance before me
to my pleasure

i shut my mouth
i hold my hands and tell myself

oh how beautiful! (but)
they are not mine.

the first time mama bought me a jockey

the first trip to cagayan de oro city
the first plane ride to manila

the first kiss
first bed

first love
the first broken heart

as i sit empty handed beside my window
the first time in my life

i begin to smile thinking about all these things
the first time.

i think a little bit
what is in you that i love
what is in me that you cannot love

logic tells me
you are never worthy of my love
you are not the kind and quality that i am looking for
i detest this unexplainable feeling
if i think some more
i vomit with what i see
and see carefully

crazy heart
illogical self
every moment i long for you
every time i see you i become lost thinking about you
i cherish your face
i desire your touch
i want to fuse with your body
i imagine the warmth
and the throbbing heart
singing in bliss

my mind says i am crazy
but this heart says i am right
with you i become a bird with swift wings
i can fly to the highest skies
with you i can be complete

there is no word fit for this
this is a river flowing without a mind of its own
and yet it has song
it has life
it has love.

i envy you
you do not have to write anything
to create meaning to your life

i envy you
you enjoy life without thinking much
you love and you are loved in return

i envy you
for you belong to someone
you never belong to me

here i am
moving in circles
nauseated.

i know what
is inside me
it is beautiful
it is more
beautiful if i
have you in my
arms
but this can never be
i have my own world
you have yours too
we are distance doubled
by our beliefs
you may lie to me
but only for a while
and then the truth comes
and you must leave me
and then i will understand it
but i will be in so much pain
and then i will be dead

then you laugh and take
everything from me
whatever i have
must have been given

i am in no position to
put you in pedestal
though i love you i love
myself more and if by
chance i may put you
there i know the consequence
you will love me
and then someone will die.

it is within my power
to change my shape
and be what pleasure
is there to give me
but i cannot, i won't.
the shape you see
when we first met,
shall be the same
when i will finally
leave you. It was
not pleasure that
was the reason.
It was also something
beyond shapes
In fact, the shape
does not matter anymore.
It is temporary.

mere touch
it passes like a stranger
nothing interesting
on a hot day

the tongue twists
asking for water
the teeth grits
asking for more

tonight what shall i be?
a wolf? you will fear me
i could be the moon
that embraces all of you

i can be the grass
where you sleep and dream
a touch from your body
makes me a tree
a sky, a world, a universe

i become a meteor
living through
an infinite space

something is heavy
i cannot lift it myself
on such a tense
situation as this
when everything seems
to be pointing at you
with all disfavor

your sigh
heave it yourself.

nothing more about euphemism
can hide the truth
that you are not with us
do not try to misspell
our intentions
so they may become popular
to those who by
our standards are the great
morons of our society

no need to tell that you are not one of us
we are finally leaving

we come with nothing
we bring nothing

our journey is far
and the place has no name

it is this familiarity
that makes me more love you
now i untangle these beliefs
that says
you breed contempt
now i have thrown all those
that negate you
you have become too familiar
like everyday
like every minute
and yet the hours still seem
so lovely

feed me more with that thing
that stuff
called love and truth.

to abandonment
i am already at ease
these happen all the time
and it has no effect
on my blood anymore

these blood that keeps on
running
without an arrival
these blood that
pours
when i have no
more tears
to show you

now the questions are asking you
what now? quo vadis?
where to? what for?
why?

yes, why above all.
the questions are asking you
and you must answer with the very same questions to the questions

you beg, and they beg too
the answer to the questions

but you have no answers really
you have learned the art of wisdom
its own ways
its own manners of not answering with answers

who knows? no one knows?
oh, ahh, i must start from where wisdow
was born

here i am and i know nothing....

nothing is planned
words to say just come with ease
there is no purpose
everything becomes light
and even if something true
and hurting is spoken
no bad feelings come
since trust prevails
that trust that the friend
intends nothing but the good
the better things ahead
for both of them

thank you
for being here with me

another 15 years
of our being together

in this home
this house i built for us

thank you for loving
me thank you for bearing

with me,my lapses and
cares, my laughter and

tears, thank you, thank you
for loving me

at noon, at dawn
in the middle of my dark times

of my happy times
and sad times

thank you for opening the door
and keeping my bed warm

thank you for loving me
for being with me all the times

of my life, when all of them
have finally given up on me

you were always there
to welcome and embrace me

thank you for loving me.
thank you.

pain is not your true friend
it does not stay long
it looks for another
faithful company

that is hope

and so is happiness
that knocks once and like pain
enters your door
sits on your chair
and dines and drinks with you
but only for a while

you want it to stay some more
you pamper it with scrubs
and foot massage
a very soft bed and
a bear hug and a french kiss

it goes out without notice
flies from your window
leaving you
a certain emptiness

that is the truth.

i have worms inside my mouth

at first i wanted to spit them all
wanting to relieve myself
with all the hassle
in keeping worms
that my friends detest

they tell me
that i must spit them all
for reasons of
sanitation

or perhaps
for my own sanity

i think about it
and the possibilities
of finally throwing up

after all i get
nauseous

this feeling of trying to hide
some things
inside the mouth

( do you know
about it?)

i could not do the throwing up
and so
the worms are still there
it is something
about giving them
temporary shelter
a home

i did not listen to myself
i did not listen to their advices

i decided to keep the worms for good
swallowing each worm
sliding in my esophagus
and finally settling inside the
rooms of my heart

i dream about each worm
wriggling inside my brain
but i keep them still
despite the mixed feelings of
pleasure and pain

one day
the worms become butterflies
and i feel ready for
this beautiful eventuality

i look up
to the heavens
on a very bright day

i spit them
all free

to the skies to the clouds
and to the trees
where they all
rightfully belong

i make a game
touch and go
writing a poem
and not getting back at it
for a possibility of
an editing
i like the way my fingers
press the keys
with or without
any direction
something naturally
senseless

when i come back
to see it again
a day after
i notice there are many
errors

the grammar sometimes
and even the idea
some are simply
impertinent
illogical
irrelevant and
immaterial
like a lawyer lost in the
woods of reason
objected to by
the other pock-marked counsel

it does not really matter
life like life
goes into gross errors
and sometimes it is too late
to correct them

we suffer the consequences
in this
touch and go game

well, sometimes
i like to embrace errors
specially those
which should not be corrected
because
they picture what we really are
imperfect
and with the way we want to
cover those
erroneous tracks
we become more about what we
are

incurable hypocrites...

Bong

now in the field of law
surprise, surprise
i have seen his latest pic
on the train
as he was waiting for
someone
he does not recognize me
and i pretend
not knowing him

i remember those days
of police line-ups
less the smiles now
we still wear the same
anxious faces

the train arrives
he is in the embrace
of a woman
i guess, let me guess
ten years younger
that his age

the way they kiss
she is not his daughter.

at FACEBOOK

GOOGle, google
see the faces of those that you remember
then
this is what you can at least do
shed some tears
a pool of tears
and let all the characters of your life
swim there
for long
let them tell the story of salt
and the previous dryness
that killed a rose
which made the bee mourn
that made
another butterfly flutter
in another garden
owned by
that self-made oligarch
applauded
by the wasps
and smacked by the
worms.

the food on the table

sour,
a little sweet
nothing bitter
like you.

SANDWICH

as you take that sandwich
i remember 1971

the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

that is not how i saw it in the 70's
you were too young then
to know the connotation of the word

or the metaphor of being sandwiched
between two warring forces
who wanted to win by killing each other

they were all civilians mind you
sandwiched between the armed and dangerous government
and the armed and more dangerous rebels

the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

in the 70's they were not delicious at all
they were maimed, and bloody, killed on the streets
and public plazas bombed and brains scattered
on the hot cemented pavements
people kept in hog wires and secret
detention places

brothers all but so insensitive to the
the roots of humanity
Cains and Abels


the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

when all i need is simply a bitter tasting coffee
without the sugar and cream

SENSELESS

senselessly
make sense by being senseless at times
we all need that
to realize we are not what we are after all
we too are what we are for what we are not
senseless and
numb

senselessly why worry about sense at all?
bipolarity

flesh and spirit
mind and matter
brain and brass

don't you worry
take some beer and smoke
watch what happens to the world
in conflagration
of senseless thoughts

loafing is the work of another genius
when the mind simply drifts like a butterfly
on a windless day
shopping for petals in the garden
of no-man's land

THE FEAR COMPONENT

part of the program component
is the fear that they install
on incoming viruses

what do you do? take the fear
and savor the virus and sit on the
easy chair, wiggle, wobble, like
another unknown planet

stare at the monitor as though
it is a bird that cannot take flight
with your mind

it will stare back
but you are no longer moved with pity

fear is an important part of this program
fly with it
have a tour on its contours
and when you come back
tell me the story of fear in wonderland
show me that Cheshire grin
be the mad hatter
with the etiquette of the
Red Queen

this is senseless
yet why did you finish it?

sorry girl

but it is not my habit to
find out how you are doing when you are no longer there to greet me
when i arrive from a very long trip with someone else that you do not know
that you are not interested with
since it simply inflicts that pain
that you are getting used to

hello is strange word now.
it is not my friend, neither is the word goodbye

do not tell me that once i have said the word
i get tired of its face
the 'why' embedded in it
is perplexing
if at all i give it a thought
or a piece of my
mind

i like birds with strong wings
those that travel far away and do not come back

it they come back
they only bring memories
and sad stories

do i have to make a pool of tears again
where some 'unfit' organisms for a time swim and then die?

i like birds with claws those that know what wars to fight out there
sharp claws
that promise them to live some more years

do not underestimate my capacity for sorrow
my love for death

besides the birds i also have worms,
lots of worms as friends
they are too sympathetic to our causes
accommodating to our weariness

they know when to eat and rest
and sing the funeral hymns.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATTY

Patty it is your birthday
and i am suppose to greet you

happy birthday, but i didn't
i change my mind
after all what can i give you
what can i say to you?

your son stepped into the abyss
between darkness and another darkness
he is maimed and cannot say a word to you

your husband's left eye got blinded
with a smirk of boiling oil
and there is no sense arguing what recklessness caused it
who pays for the damage done
where to go and be justified
the scales do not function well these darkest day of the year

your daughter plunged herself into the calendar days of the law
and she has no time with you
(did she greet you a happy birthday?)
how many husbands have she wasted?
she did not like kids i know and you love kids so much

time snobs you and you ask what have you done to its wings
to deserve its sharp claws?
i have no answers Patty, i am too preoccupied with so many theories
about the roots of sorrow
the branches of fear
the poisonous barks of injustice

good luck Patty have another year
make is saucy, try some beer, have a little smoke
they may cure your cancer.

Life is a sad novel Patty
and it will take some more years before it is finished.

BUSY

the whole day you read
till nighttime
she leaves you finally
and you do not ask
you do not beg

whether she comes back
it simply an irrelevant fact

nothing fills your head
like a sponge it sucks every water every moisture
around the corner

fungus infested air and opaque dew
your mind takes them all without question
no choice even
things come and things go
birds fly away and worms burrow some more
nothing is pertinent now
love is dead.

After Love
by Sara Teasdale
There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I for you. You were the wind and I the sea— There is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool Beside the shore. But though the pool is safe from storm And from the tide has found surcease, It grows more bitter than the sea, For all its peace.

Cristina Davis says:

She said, I love you.

He said, Nothing.


(As if there were just one
of each word and the one
who used it, used it up).


In the history of language
the first obscenity was silence.

This nobody says:

what was obscene really
what was said first
before the silence.

in my town

the faces of people
are still faces,
nothing there are
transformed
into animals,

that boy may look
like an urchin to
you
with spikes throughout
his hair or

that old woman
a camel with an abnormal
hunch
back

the gasoline boy
becomes
an alligator
its tongue preying
on the
cars and impatient
queues
of turtles

i still have respect
to this town
the men are men
and women
are mothers and sisters
of mine

before any coffee
i swear to myself
that i am the man with
a new story to tell

to throw away
all these cliches
and be what
i really am

there is no word yet
nothing is popping up
.................


so back to usual
i write something that
repeats itself
like an echo of
another boredom
form that same
mountainside

to wait for long
is crazy
i know

........

i will have my coffee now
and sip what i must accept

oh, there is nothing new
regret what you have just read.

i think you must go now
and this i must tell you:

write your own regret
do not read me again.

it's nice to know that you will be there
on the 11th till the 13th
though i have other plans for my life,
cheat as i am,
i will be too stupid to follow the dictates
of my heart,
i will join you and give you
not the anatomy of the cat or the frog
i bring my own set of sturdy flesh
and hard bones
and wracking nerves
did i not tell you about the ecstasy
of risks?

that love when riskier is better.
the love that kills is true love.
the one who is killed is pure martyr.

so we will be there to share our limited resources.
is sharing a from of cheating then?

oh, common, mutual cheaters are equals.
no one hurts, no one gets hurt.

it is easy always to forget, then we move on
with lesser pains.

i am good at words.
familiar with metaphors, and you stumble
upon an
oxymoron that i offer you and which you by
confusion, have so lightly taken,
i do have to say, how much is your smile,
what is the price of your kiss,
i will be too abrupt, and blunt and you may
not like them,
though that is what it
really is: love cost this amount
per unit of convergence
divisible moments, maximizing income.

beautiful killer, you are,
tremendously slow, in conclusions,
i buy you some confounding,
this is or this is not, to be or not to be,
you this, and you do not know about that,
how time consuming
to woe and yet not to let you know
that we are not really talking and i am not
taking you for

love: a commodity, a trade in for dignity,
an excuse to gallivant like
an etherized valentino,
stuffed juliet, and frozen romeo, undressed
they all appear like
dressed chickens in a row, for sale,
three for two,
a little tete a tete , something for a bric and brac,
guess some more,

"i love you"
i really love you, and i said oh i love you too

webcams off. what kind of face did you wear then?
was it the mask? is it the face with a crown of thorns

Jesssez! for God's sake! stop talking about love,
i am freezing in coldness. Love is strange now
as we age, we do not believe about its value anymore,
wrinkled skins, and hollow bones,
empty promises of the salvific nature of
divine love,

what for? this i can say. I do not think anymore like
a philosopher, i live like an ant now,
following pheromones, doing and doing, and hauling and hauling,
just a creature on this anthill
nothing more.