Last Trip

Drenched, I waited
for the train to arrive
to take me to
the outskirts of sanity.
'Twas Saturday
and the station was
deserted and quiet
'cept for the pounding
rain on pavement.
I clenched the one-way
ticket and slid it
into my pocket
to shield it from
the downpour of
two lifetimes ago.
I've forgotten how
rain felt on my skin -
pale now from the constant
patter, devoid of color
and life.
From the distance
it came announcing
its presence with the muffled
blow of horn and the blind
searching of headlights
through mist. Alas,
here is my ride
hovering over
rusted rails and wet earth.
I waved to welcome
salvation but the driver
didn't see the glint
of happiness in my eyes
and the sadness
of my goodbye.
I thought of her
one last time as I
made my way
down the overhang
with the ticket
still in my pocket -
a farewell letter:

Goodbye life
please tell her
I love her.

- written some time in 2000 for Cynthia

Genesis

tiny seeds caught
in fouled air
drawn by billows of black smoke
coughed up by striped nostrils
red and white
protruding from barren earth
catalyze
coalescing dew drops hanging
and waiting suspended
in the hazy tropospheric mass
the burning red star polarizing
the ambivalent sky
helpless against the imminent brewing
of thunderstorms yet numb to the shock
of several million volts blind
to the flashes of light

then I heard thunder clap
from within

- written some time in 2000

Omen

making sense of nothingness
decaying rotting trying
to make sense of the world
through mind filled with filth
staring blankly at death forever
forever death wailing at emptiness
the stark lonely darkness of
a lone lit lamp distant shining
flat white light at night
scared of humanity scarred
from the harsh reality of
the here the now the present
eyes unblinking wide open bulging
adsorbing gray images of nothing
the bitter taste of nightmare
growing a menacing
physical presence of sex
of violence evil becoming
corrupting
growing
being

- written some time in 1999

Vertigo

My hands, still wet
from the condemnation
that befell me, tremble
at every heartbeat;
when spurious ecstasies
sparked, spread from
the groin like the itch
of seven lifetimes
overpowered me, gnawed
from under skin to being,
I lost my soul. I groan
in desperation cried
out, "Redemption!"
to the heedless gods.
With endless prayers,
past stares, I choked.
The numbness on my face
and neck let trickle
saliva down my throat,
sweat soaked skin
flooded the core, rendered
helpless my body.
A flash and a glimpse of earth
I catch as it sped toward me -
or I toward it.

Then blackness.

I awoke with pain
tremendous searing through
my brain, my eyes pounding
at each gush of blood.
I strained to see my body
slumped face down on mud.

- written some time in 1999

You Make Me Want To

It's good to hear from you
Good of you to call
Been wanting bad to hear your voice
I miss that most of all

I don't wanna hang up
For I'll die if I do
You're so much a part of me
I'm nothing without you

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me wanna want you?

We talk and never tire
Think it's beyond normal
'Cause we only talk 'bout things
Inconsequential

What is it I feel for you?
Don't understand no more
Don't know what I'm going through
Never felt this before

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me wanna want you?

With all the confusion going on
Don't know if I can play along
But I say bring it on
Stay with you forever on the phone

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me wanna want you?

- originally intended as a song for Larra, written in 1999

Hesitation

You asked how you could help.
I said you can't.
It's you I'm thinking about
I won't pretend.

Said you had an idea what it was.
I'm sure you do.
I've been saying things I shouldn't have
To you.

So should I tell you or no?
I do not know.
I'm headed to a river crossing
Where I shouldn't go.

Now all that's left is frustration.
What do I do?
I'll just sulk in desperation
And stay blue.

- written in 1999 for Larra

I Wonder What It Would Take

I wonder what it would take
for you to agree to go out with me.
Should I bring out my flashy new SUV
and take you for a ride through the city?
Or should I smile my cutest smile
and wow you with the good looks of me.

I wonder if you'd go out with me
if I filled your room with blooms
or built my body up to a Schwarzenegger
and carry you around at noon?
Maybe if I brought out my witch's broom
you'd agree to go out with me soon.

Maybe you'd go out with me
if I brought you M&Ms daily
or gave you a foot massage
served soothingly over coffee.
I think maybe you'd go out with me
if I brought you all the world's fancy.

But I don't have a groovy car to ride in
nor a witch's broom to fly with,
only good stories and good company.
You see all I could offer you is me.

I don't have looks that could kill
nor a rock-hard bod with which to thrill,
I've only the purest of intentions,
sincerity, with no pretensions.

Your dentist would kill me
if I gave you M&Ms daily.
You might think massage over coffee
as too intimate too early.

So you see I have nothing much to offer,
just me and this bunch of flowers.
I don't know what you want to hear or see
but one thing is very clear to me:

I like you. Please go out with me.

- written some time in 1998 for Ruth H.R.

I Said I Loved You

I said I loved you
but now I wonder
if I knew what it
meant; the loss
of you left me
broken,
unkempt, blind
in an alley of mirrors
that reflect different mes,
lost in a thousand selves,
holding on to that one
reflection that caught
a fleeting moment
of bliss on my face,
but drawn irreverently
to the corner where
broken glass flash
back pieces of an
irreparable soul;

truth untold:
I could not have loved you at all.

- written some time in 2000

Claustrophobia

What do you do at two o'clock in the morning
when everyone
in your house is asleep,
when all your friends are with your other friends
in bars
patting each other's backs
for their fast cars and silver spoons?
Whom do you call when everyone you know
has gone to their beds
happy
they have someone beside them
to kiss
and have breakfast with in the morning?
Whom do you talk to when you think
you are ready
to fall
into a mere
sub-existence
barely able to feel yourself
or hear yourself speak
or see
your reflection in the bathroom mirror?
How do you wake up from a bad dream
without
losing your sanity from realizing
that a bad dream is more sufferable than
a wretched life? How do you regain hope
stolen from the womb that bore it
or confidence
bought out by malicious capitalists
that hog fame and favor and leave
you
with canard?
How do you live to see yourself
perverted
corrupted
reduced to a
demeaned level of polishing shoes of honchos
day
after day
after day
dismissed at whim like
cheap perfume?
How do you keep yourself from
consummating
that suicide note long written in your head
when you find there is
nothing
to hold you and keep you from it?
How do you deal with conscience?
How do you keep your mother from prattling
about how your job sucks and
your appearance
never right?
How do you endure
the ceaseless playing
of that effusive
record by your deplorable neighbors
when your ears
bleed
from the steady
drumming of polka? Why can I not scream
from frustration
without passersby looking
with eyes bulging and brows twitching?
When can I take that vacation? Where do I
go
for solace?
Why does it hurt to dream?
Why does it cost to love?
When does
this migraine leave? When will sleep come
when it is the only
source of happiness
and rest
left?
When does life become?
And when
will death be gone?
How do you begin to exist beyond
imperfection?
When do I transcend finally the evil that
surrounds me
so I can live in peace
free
from judgement and prejudice
let alone
for being me and not somebody
else?
When will I be let loose
emancipated
from the superstructures upon which
this whole goddamned world is built
under which cowardly peoples
and men of half-wit
hide
so I can live
to relish my days – and my nights –
without having to feel rejected
dejected
alone?

- written some time in 2000

The Hunt

Down the cavernous path
I saw a roach
making the slow climb
to the grimy ceiling.
It shuddered about
sensing the predator
that was inching its way
through the narrow entrance.
I picked it up
and felt it struggle
between my fingers.
I gave it a little pressure
and felt its gut
spill onto my hand.
I bit on the head
but decided to swallow it
whole - head, gut and all.
I licked my hand clean
and began looking
for my next meal -
hidden somewhere
in the crevices and cracks
of the narrow,
cavernous path.

- written some time in the late 90s

Solitaire

There I found myself
writing words that may
never be read by the one
for whom they are written.
I have expected this to happen,
subconsciously waited
for this to happen. Somewhere
along the way, I knew I'd be
left alone again, by myself
again, to share of myself
again, blindly to no one,
throwing myself at oblivion,
emptying the shell that
has been empty all along,
finding myself all alone
again, by myself again.
I look up at the door
hoping it would open to
reveal her, hoping, hopelessly
hoping again, alone
again, by myself again.

- written some time in 1998 for Ruth H.R.

Linger | Stay

When I can almost reach she flees,
like water in my hands 'tween fingers
drip, like breath I hold but fail to keep,
like grasps that lose the grip.

With every move, every whim,
charged currents flow 'neath skin,
circuits crash within, I implode,
explode, burst, though unwilling.

When I see her on her feet moving fast
around me, past me, door closing
behind her, I take one last breath of air
and take in lingering traces of her.

- written some time in 1998 for Ruth H.R.

Ode to the Sea

Where the wind blows freely
Where waves and sand touch endlessly
Where the sky meets tenderly
The sea

Where dark blue skies cover me
And sand warms me
Where stars wink at me
Naughtily

Where a soft breeze would carry me
To where imagination allows me
Where I am finally free
To be

Where I cannot pretend to be
Any more than me
Where I can be true to myself and see
Inwardly

Where I can see my reflection
Clearly in the glassy sea
Where I think more freely
And naturally

Where I am who I am really
And not me
Where truth is truth
Constantly

Where comfort comes soothingly
From the sound of sea
Where peace overwhelmingly
Enfolds me

Where I can almost see eternity
Looking back at me
Beckoning me
To be free

- written some time in the late 90s

Indian Summer

Melancholic utterances
bleed from the cracks,
the crevices, flooding
barren earth with tears
silver in the fluorescent
light of bulbous moon.
We have come to an impasse,
an end inevitable.
As the rain seeps,
we weep for the choleric
melancholic
beauty of a dying,
unnurtured love.

- written March 25, 2002

Slow Dance

You looked up at me with eyes that
mirrored the painful reality of the present.
There were tears of bitterness
waiting to fall and I was there with you
waiting to catch them with words.
We were locked in a dance and your eyes
spoke of a time when we were deeply in love
and fighting a future that neither of us
could see nor feel. When the first tear fell,
the pain in my chest became most unbearable.
I could not keep in step to the music.
It was the first song of the evening but we knew
it was the anthem of an ending long overdue.
How, then, do we dance to the music that
leads us further to the end? How do we dance
the slow dance of the inevitable goodbye?

- written some time in 2000 for Cynthia

The Emancipation of Ra

You are like the sun
worshipped by primeval entities,
revered even in the deepest recesses -
in caves of stone and forests deep.
Creatures rage and bask as they forage
under your eternal fire.

You are like the sun
and I lie scorched, counting irregular
blotches and scars on my body that's
as bare as the oceans and
helpless as the seas.

Even the stars die out under your blinding
light. The moon draws its illumined countenance
from you, oh glorious King!
You are like the sun, raging and majestic,
towering and nurturing.

Do not go! Do not let the cold of night rule
in your stead. Burn instead and lick the earth
with tongues of fire. Burn incessantly and sear
my calloused heart, for I fear the enveloping
darkness of your absence.

Stay. Stay forever. Then we shall lie in the
comfort of our love. For I am like the earth
and you are like the sun
and between us there should be
only void.

- written some time in 2001 for Elias

Taciturn

How unsaid thoughts
Tell of tales untold
Of love, of hate,
Of courage, of fear.
How gestures undisguised
Speak of feelings undescribed.
How plainly clear
What needs to be said
And obscuring the mask
That hides instead.

Oh, how much silence lets through
With the passing of minutes
Thirty and two!

- written in 1999 for Larra

Beholding Beauty

In a voiceless whisper
You called to me and
Lured my soul
To come and draw near.
You held my hand and
Brought me close
To unfelt bliss,
Unknown ecstasy.

I opened my eyes and
Saw what was before me,
Standing there
Elegantly,
Splendidly,
In form, most pure,
Most delicate:
Beauty.

Your face, asymmetrical
Yet poised, confounded me,
Held my eyes captive
And possessed me.
As I gazed at your face,
The lovely folds
Glowed in the
Mild morning sun,
Shimmered and
Broke into a thousand
Different hues,
Into a musical canvas
Of tone and brilliance
Waking my imagination.

Unlike any I have felt
Or touched, your skin,
Soft and supple,
Beckoned me to caress
Your body. Then,
As in a trance, I let
My hand glide over
Your entirety.
Oh, beauty!

Dazed from your sweet
Subtle scent, my mind
Wandered through eternity,
To a dream of beauty
Divine and ethereal.

To have lived and fought
And not felt such freedom,
To have gone and sought
And not found such splendor,
To have walked the earth
And never seen such majesty
Is to me like sin
Against such beauty.

- written some time in the late 90s as an ode to Philippine flora, dedicated to Raven in 2009