the ocean coming

Night after night I keep vigil
Over the earth
Of the slowly dying man.
The dark deepens
And I walk to an empty place
To watch the withering grass
And feel,
The salty wetness of earth
As the sea slips in like a thief.

The death would come from below they say,
It would come as the beaches rising
With every wave
Growing like a revolution until
The ocean redeems the deserts.
In the silence of the breezeless night
The waft unwashed rises
Till my cold skin
stenches of fish and broken shells.

The ocean swells,
Unhindered we live our normal lives.
The ocean swells,
Like a stubborn child, it swells
Refusing to return
from an endless tide.
The ocean swells,
Sweet bread rising to heat.
In heat it swells,
The heat of our doing.
Till all things frozen is frozen no more.

The ocean would,
And wipe us all.
Wipe the heat along
Till the earth,
Cleansed by the salt of sea
Could mourn her prodigal son.


learn and return

go back to the beginning,
and leave when scratches bloom on the marble floor
go with a search light 
or a lamp without a shade,
go with the sun...
where the candy rainbow dissipates.

dust off your manger  
and work in the night.
let the morning dew part,
you from the resting world.

rest in the morn,
lick warm honey in the shade
up on the wet earth, earthworms crawling...
pick up the pieces of your porcelain life.
dust the shards off,
let bare fingertips bleed 
and while the change floods the world,
and piece the porcelain with the red of your soul.


If only I could gather these times I’m living through, the most alive since my childhood days and thrust it down the green wine bottles I so feverously collect.
If only it remained un-aged and without wear the coarse skin of time has on memory.
Then I could, when my flesh softens… the skin under my open eyes loll… crush the green glass under a rock to see life exploding like a bomb and glistening smoke of unclothed happiness lift as whirls…nudge the marrow that pumped out the restless blood and see once again the heart I used to hold on to for dear life.



Time, the chimera.

I’m too old for paper planes
And views through the window.
long sits on toilet bowl,
Reading books off the wash.
I haven’t had enough
Of painting walls and breaking bowls,
ballads and hot tea in blurs.
I’m too old for blue marbles
And roast beef rice balls,
for innocent joy and
Love unconditional.

Too old for depth and musings
About sour butt ants and blackout bugs.
I haven’t had enough
of longing and letting go.
Not enough of fresh coffee
When its still too dark for walks
Scrambled whites
When too bored to eat…
When still too sad to breath.

But like said…
There is a time to mourn
And a time to dance
A time to embrace
And a time to refrain.
A time to love…
But no time to hate.
A time to rend
And a time to sew.
A time to get….
But lord knows now its my time to loose.

Water for the stream

My wish and will ignored
These days pass
Like the honeysuckle’s wither
In the cold dry dust
I count them
And the bark
Peeling off the old mango tree
The bark falling
And the floating honeysuckles
Down to a certain destiny.
Those were the days
Of grandpa’s clean fields,
Where I fished with my friends
And drank the chilled water
From oasis of life.
As we grew our hearts broke
And before I was stiff
From the black crude that oozed out
I scratched down the sweet dream
To my now bleeding thigh
To remember the summer
And those times we dint care
We could walk on water

Now our gaze has grow cold
As a midwinter night,
Our face red
From the warmth of hot blood,
Toes tremble as it feels the water.
Now as I sit on the culvert,
Over the dead stream,
I wish with my life
for a red glowing sun.
For the coconut trees
at the edge of the dead stream
to shadow me,
And hold me a prisoner.
The trees and my thigh’s memory.