lethe

i like the way
the shadows flirt
with the overmatched
light across your face.

i don't mind
the deafness brought
about by noise (music)
in this little world
we found empty for us
to settle in.

i like the way
we talk with expressions
more than words,
we save sound in case
we need a scream
to cross the span
of this table wedged
between us.

i don't mind
that your arm slithers
around mine,
not committing,
not now,
not yet,
while you distract me
with your lips synching
to noise (music)
from the outside world.

and i raise a hand
to surface from under
this darkness,
a beacon to the sentinels
of the outside world,
i only ask them
for a glass
of what you're having,
and i like the way
the cold glass gently
infects my hand
with its low temperatures,
and i don't mind
the numbness,

then i raise said glass
to my lips and
i like the way
the liquid slithers
down my throat
in a tango of fire and ice,
i don't mind the way
the light falls prey
to the shadows waltzing
across your face,
i don't mind that
you now resemble her,
i like that soon
you will be her.

would you mind to have
your arms slither around
my torso now, i am
overmatched,
it is time
to drown me
in your music (noise),
take me to the shadows,
take me home.


2013.nov.05

wrong

thought it would be the perfect day
if i told you it was
raining chocolate,

i was counting on sweet precipitation
herding you from shelter into the fields,
chasing us
to collision,
stuck forever, embracing you forever
in sugary slime,

but,

you didn't have to consume half that hill by yourself and left me here hungering with the void you left behind.

next time if the chocolate came with that much gravity: run
if it came at the heels of the world shaking her head in disapproval, presumably of our affair: run

you don't have to look back, only know i will be right behind, chasing after you,
collision in mind, holding you in mind, being stuck forever in mind,

in sugary slime.



2013.oct.25

lies

last year they told me you were high on
gunpowder and lead and already i knew
they were lying, as if i never knew
human from Kryptonian

as if i was buying that.
...ha.

their scam never saw a penny from me:
let us laugh in the face of their blasphemies
over spirits later

we will drink over well-kept memories like
that time we razed the hordes on the Espina
battlefields, how they ran at the
sight of you

or when i heard of you taking out that
army with a word, or when you shrugged off that
speeding car like
unworthy dust on your cape

like when you crashed into
mountains of fire

always holding our breaths hostage
but unfailingly you were
stubbornly you were
invincible



2013.oct.21

things to do to get out of here

started with deconstructing
the four walls: the loosed gravel mingled
with blood in my pores in my hands.
halfway through this endeavor
realized I...
perhaps should have disassembled
the floor instead, should have ventured
downwards. should have extracted my
Eurydice from Hades.

or I could have realized I...
should have taken apart the ceiling
instead, my Daedalus could wax my wings.
I could have said in your faces: I am
Icarus bitches I am flying I am the wind.
I would have gone and touched the sun, too.
gone down in pretty flames, too.

realized I... never had a Daedalus.

smiled at realizations as I dispersed
the party of gravel and blood in
my pores in my hands. stood by
the door and fell into a line to
collect the day's wages and all I could think
of
is
if
it
is
enough for Charon's obol.

placed another coin in my mouth but
it still tasted of life.



2013.oct.04

sans farron

same old
time-worn
streaming curtains.
dispersing like memory,
homing in on me.

in on us.
same old white room.
night-orphaned.

same old new year's
eve of moving through
night-orphaned
uncharted sheets, but

the world wasn't round
not then, not when
you aren't where you are
supposed to be.

and i fall down, down
the edge of the world.
spill on a floor gone cold.
it remembered warmth,
was it of you?

but it's the same old,
same old, same old
story of every
awakening.

i tell you my truth:
this is not the morning after.
i knew with all my heart.
you stayed.

this is not the book i wrote.
my heroine never dissolved into
non-existence mid-story.
or anytime else.
she stayed. you stayed.

you stayed you stayed you stayed

this is not the epicenter
of the -
you were not the earthquake
that shook my -

this is not my world
not without you.



2012.nov.23

lunch break

the threatening hint of hunger unites us into
an accelerating force barreling down the tower.
the path of the stairways takes too long, but
the warp-speed descent of the cold boxes is
there for us.
any of the three can vomit us into the sunlight.

the concrete-armored earth is warm and firm
beneath the daily traffic of rubber soles,
and the occasional skin.
the gravity beneath the tiles push back against
our weight, a resistance ancient and unstoppable
and never ending.
the pause and the deja vu of not knowing which
direction to take is inevitable, an aerial tide
tinged with infected city breeze.

her artillery eyes roam upwards. the hunt for
enemy clouds begins, but
the heavens are a peaceful blue today.
i consult my tongue for a reminder on
the nationality of sustenance we have recently
erased off the face of the world.

a decision is made. a destination is set.
a rendezvous wed to today's death match against
the demonic, abyssal, hunger of high noon.
oh, don't worry, loved ones; for the low cost
of small animal and defenseless plant life, we
are unbeatable.



2012.jan.19

tavern

talking economics
with the king of the mountain
over cold beer, cold soda, bacon,
and cheeseburgers

while Lane and Jerry harmonize vocals
from hidden speakers.

the king of the mountain recommends:
lechon, liempo, pizza,
breaded pork chops, vegetarian breakfast.

and books and TV series and Bean, Sean Bean.

the king of the mountain decrees:
quality of video, audio, and content
are of utmost importance.

that there is a point of no return.

the lawyer and the monster and I
stand audience to economics of electricity.
economics of political fumbles
in this part of the world.

economics of leaving the mountain for diplomatic duties
by the seashore.

a neighboring table begins the holy rites of Poker.
smoke breaks free from out of their teethed dungeons.

threatened, the monster and I cower into our silver ride,
into dark streets of an aging evening.

deserters.

in the tavern the cheeseburgers built,
the mighty king and the magnificent lawyer
carry on.