For That

Money,

I need money

To buy you…

So if you don’t like my poetry,

Il buy you a cup of tea

So we could talk calmly

About how I despise you.

If fortune is real

Staring

At the somehow 7 inches fortune tree

In an ancient ceramic white cup

In the naked midnight table:

I wanna get laid

And we are the night

And we are the night,

No jeepney no buses no tricycles
Just us on the gutter
We are the night,
Spending time that we all just have.

Behind us is a bank,
The concert has stop,
And we just lay on the cold streets.

Early Blues Early Tabaco Pier Morning

An old man behind the sun behind a Japanese ship, darkened illuminated arms stretching in the early morning
Toddlers knees running non-stop, mothers sitting on the breakwater laughing
Fathers bending knees, push ups, sit ups, yoga
Bean curd juice vendor selling searching for breakfast 
Kids in bicycle rolling in the wind, laughter merged with the thin air
Sailors tailoring throwing smiles to the fascinating simplicity of the native teenage girls
People in gigantic rucksacks, sitting in the gutter devouring rice sardines coffee, waiting Catanduanes ship to sail
Old women and children selling cigarettes mineral water candies
Passengers ignoring everybody, sweat in their foreheads, eyes deep as the ocean blues
Fishermen in the sea’s nucleus, shrouded by mystery sweet silhouette
Nomad Birds gave birth to a sense as they bite my chipped biscuits on the cold ground
In the back of a hamburger stand, my legs temporarily void of power, chumping packed veggie hotdog bun.

Milk It

Sleepyhead, false alarms to wake up to pee time wee hours makes me a madman.

Madness in the dark kitchen knives the only luminance in the house. 

Sharp little shrill voice came out:

I want to sleep. I want to sleep. I want to…

Milk hot and creamy, the pop-up solution,

So I make a glass and stay awake tappita tapp tappita

In the keyboard who doesn’t sleep.


The empty aluminum cup shining smiling in my workaholic wooden desk,
Empty metal of white protein adrenalin push tired already but,
I love it I love it to not sleep,
Feelings change in an instant,
My sanity downpours on the amnesiac keybord,
Tappita tapp tappita as the orange glow crawl into the distant window.

A date before twilight

Ephemeral orange afternoon

Unlike your hand in mine I know,
We sat beside the perpetual sea,
The dusk is hungry to eat the remaining light,
In this one violet violent internal twilight,
The voice of Lord Buddha
Reverberates innumerable echoes:
Attachment is the root cause of all suffering,
Attachment…

Only the breaking of the water cut my thoughts,
You press my hand.
As you pointed the silhouette bird,
Slowly entering the waning sun,
My heartbeat breaks the crying sonata of the big blue.

So I don’t know what’s waiting but I want you to know

Drink is the night light coming down that cast shadows on the windy ground,

Road long narrowing my hope to reach home,
Home that I want to forget till twilight,

Ahh, to be with the one I love with the dying love in between our bed,
Like the sweetest beer I known for years,
Sweet when its still in my mouth but smothering me inside,
Like my withering veins because of the lack of sleep that I need
I need to be awake to fetch medicines for that illness in my bed.

So come down to me light, and also you wind,
Walk with me as I stream the unknown road that I known for years.

If ever I failed to come home before twilight or after the light,
Just want you to know that I made effort to think,
To find the illness in between our bed that never ever I adore.