Monday, November 29, 2010

falling sky

i don't mind if the sky chooses to fall, splutter, break, flutter
as long as I'm there to catch it

5 rivers

I wrote this a while back and have just re-visited it.

I drowned in five rivers, each one at my fingertip, stipend wit.
I felt rage at each damp page, my words revolving into a rampage.
The beginning of my sin ended in Phlegethon, seared skin speared in sorrow—Acheron
Reaching out limits at Cocytus, laminated by peels of lemon, to falsify the scent of the parched yet soaked skin, to satisfy lethally legalized weapons of mass, masculine ass, Lethe, please leave a message of peace behind, a mythological yet illogically divine, support the troops, support the pores, sport the poor, sport the moor, report demure, forgot to lock the doors behind, blame it on Alzheimer.
I experience an enigmatic catharsis, as I lay in Styx, syntax diluted, arsis’ secluded concentrated by pity, pity my petulant cries, pity my peasant rhyme, pity my palms inches away from my fingertips, clipped my body stripped, dipped into five rivers till I drowned.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


There was something so condescending about his soft words, his premature smile that I had to bow down to listen.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

the beginning

Every time I think of the beginning, I note its loneliness, fragility and foreignness. I can never pass past the beginning, but find myself re-territorializing it in my imagination; though it is muddy, yet soft, below my feet. It is mine, but never mine to mould or emancipate; it merely reminds me of my beginning and predicts my ending. I walk with tension, hesitation and a false sense of passing.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

a moving thought

This flickering feeling of vitality was an accident, a trope, a metaphor, a failure. The stirring of hope under the blazing sun moved my thoughts to and fro—-a hammock. But, it was the sight of a funeral procession like a bread crumb on top an ant that reminded me that I, too, will have graffiti drawn on my grave.