Waiting, Always

dog dying on the curbside
body convulsing, stiffening
head contorted, eyes staring
into darkness. i pass
by crowds jeering over a numbers game
flashing lights, turning wheels
colors blending, blurring into a hazy brown
the muck of the street corner
carnival of sorts
beat-down people praying for luck
as the dog lies waiting for release

After Seeing Sylvia

The life and death of Sylvia brewing in my mind
Images of red rage and grey melancholy
On this blue bed I splay writing
Of despair; the need for air
When her Black Marauder left her
Told her they can no longer share
The powerful, passionate, destructive
Claim on each other's lives

By this he claimed her life

A box without windows, smelling faintly
Of cupcakes and tarts she baked all the time
To preoccupy her idle mind,
Of pungent, metal, extinguished flames
The symbol of the perfect housewife

A box without windows
The perfect end to this domesticity
Madness fueled by asphyxiating love
Dreamily slipping away from
Unbearable reality

The Motions

When did I wake
Into this dream?
Of utmost
Desolation
The night wind calls
But I have no more use for it
The future is unclear
Only sure
That I cannot spend the rest of my life
Living in this catastrophy

Words have left me
I want them back

And then the moment is lost.

Rebuking Christian

"Love is like oxygen,
Love is a many splendoured thing,
Love lifts us up where we belong,
all we need is Love."

In a perfect world, Christian

In a perfect world.

In Transit 4

I hear waves lap against the tires
I look through a
Water-beaded , occasionally streamed
Windshield
From my southwest
I feel the breeze spit towards
My hair and the back
Of my neck
I pass panic stricken masses
Huddled under slight eaves and thick trees
All this as I sit
In the front passenger seat
And eat
My oriental-flavored, salty
Nuts
And sing
"Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world"

In Transit 3

I take in the marvelous
Cool late-night air
The aftermath of an earlier outpour
Of torrential rain.

Traveling, treveling
Through an unbecomingly undense city street
Past gas stations
And beer houses
In front of which scantily clad women
With their cheap parfums parade and
Spoil my marvelous late night air.

Two dogs (Male and Female?)
Seem in a hurry trying to find
That perfect spot
Where they could satisfy their urges.

Morning After

Blood shot eyes
Stare back
I stand before myself
Reflecting the near improbability
Of what I did
Last night

In Transit 2

The vessel is haunted by silence
Heavily hung in the weak glow of the semi-orb light
From my projected sullen exhaust
Audible only to my mind I sing
"In the background
in the background
in the background"

The cool August wind glides over my right cheek
As I look out into the road
"Everything is quiet "
Except for the droning hum of my machine
The sullenly exhausted mind
In the process of arranging words

Morning Afternoon Journeys

Specks of dust float in front of me
I stare into space
I imagine staring out into the universe

Going to, I see
Calves malnourished, ribs jutting out their sides
One wanders languidly into
The nearby cemetary

Traveling back
I notice a dog, dead and stiff
Lying decaying on the side
Of the road;
A crazy, half-naked person
Dirty and laughing
Dancing in the middle;
Tall flowering weeds
Growing out of the city pavement

Unusual Images Of Sickness And Hunger

Soap suds the tiles
I see the floor
Is cold
My urine reeks of
Penicillin
Drugs swimming in my bloodstream

My grandmother always jokes about
Sickness and Death
She says It is
Purely Personal
I don't see why you should come visit me

Last night, I remember,
I saw a stray cat scavenging
Through a garbage can
Clear plastic cups came rolling out
A fish head, soggy brown, opaque eyes and all
"Victory!"

E. B. White Wrote

He
will often find himself
steering by stars
disturbingly in motion

the Young Writer.

funny nazis!

To home
In a jeepney
Try to read
Anselm Hollo
Distracted by damn
Cheesy 80's disco music
"Ooh, heaven is a place on earth"

Yes Anselm
funny nazis!
Not on TV though
On radio

In Transit

I ponder on the word luminescence
(I love the word luminescence)
A banana-full cart passes by my line of sight
Painted strips of white sequentially alternate
With dust and asphalt
This jeepney turns the corner
Lined with colonial horse carriages
The air is full of the smell of horse shit
PungentSweetSour
When I left the sun was scorching
Now the sky is marble blue dark
And the floodgates look ready to burst