April 24, 2011 § 2 Comments

double black borders
stretching from corner to corner
all over
don’t they understand that
the rectangle has edges already?
they – the pen, the marker.
the insultingly straight ruler.
they –
who thrive on the edges
but disdain the outcasts there between.



March 22, 2011 § 4 Comments

look at me at my other eye,
the eye that weeps for my past,
the eye that has seen,
the eye that shuddered at blinks and dusts.
and look down to my smile,
crossing my cheek,
that’s half my face.

look at me at the other eye,
that eye that foresees some distant cloud,
the eye that sleeps and dreams,
the eye that fears,
and look down to my smile,
the less chubby cheek,
that’s one half of my face.

look at me at my eye.
but never both at the same time.

but don’t be deceived.

*first draft, edits to go-go*

exiled under the dome of the midnight lid

February 2, 2011 § Leave a comment

I hope the time comes when I’ll be catching fireflies in my room
On that time
I’ll be sleeping in the fields
I’ll be putting them on a jar, set them alight all night.
And I’ll open the jar at dawn, whispering
see you again tonight
and kissing each of them


January 17, 2011 § 2 Comments

Smoky is that which owns the night
Neither fog nor fire
Hovers all over
straining the light into a haze
of colors smudged seemingly
from misty eyes

settling like a bubble gum

where’s ABSOLUTE?

January 16, 2011 § Leave a comment

he doesn’t reside here.

he’s in my red backpack. i’ve carried him along. he went with me to the ferry, to the office, to the coffee shop, to the barbecue station, to the bookstore, to the internet cafe, to the grill, to the church CR, to the mall, to the house resto, to the jeepney, to the roads.

he’s empty.

Little Bird

December 22, 2010 § Leave a comment

A little bird skipping
Rock to rock to rock
Keeping on, ain’t stopping
Keeping away from the flock

Favoring a few from mosts
While appreciating a lot
Coast to coast to coast
Always leaving underworms to rot

Yet, not one did it take
For itself to keep forever
Of this bird, what to make?
I’m this little bird with human cover.


December 14, 2010 § 4 Comments

I placed my poems on the laundry basket.
There – they await their song
for the melody is not mine to give.
somebody will lather them the music they deserve,
using only the finest notes in the detergent business.
But now, the net of stench and dirt
will disarm them
as I await for the cure of the washing machine,
as I await for that someday
to become that somebody.
I am hoping against hopes
that I contain
the patience they deserve.

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