abo sa dila

May iniisip ka? Oo. Ano? Ayaw kong sabihin. Baka magkatotoo.

Dahil makulit ka
Kilala kita. Oo, ikaw 'yun: Nagkasalubong na tayo minsan, sa LRT, sa Gotohan, sa kanto ng Aurora at Katipunan. Nagkatinginan tayo. Hindi mo ako kinausap, pero alam ko, nakilala mo rin ako. Kaya ka narito, di ba? Para sabihing, Oo, oo, ikaw nga 'yun. Naaalala kita.
O, ha, Plurk, o, ha!
Radyo? Radyo?
Libreng humirit

Mag-exercise tayo tuwing umaga
Tambay ka muna
Lokal Kolor
Ano'ng hanap mo?
Basa lang nang basa
Tropa ko

    na, mula noong 24 Enero, 2006, ang nakitambay dito

dahi gusto kong maging river merchant
Friday, May 19, 2006
The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter
Ezra Pound
After Li Po

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played at the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out,
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-sa.

The River Merchant, Stuck in Kalamazoo, Writes
His Wife a Letter During Her Semester Abroad

Dean Young

We were looking forward to being alive.
Now you new place! Me not too! Strange taste
afternoon lonely for hummingbird mouthful.
You somewhere else make everywhere else
elser. I know almost nothing about this flower
growing from my chest. Does it need dead-heading?
Only you not answer. This complete the test
of the emergency broadcast system? Definition
of the female breasts as modified sweat gland
certainly leave out curfew-breaking! Sunny melon
morning all day! Remember! In my dream, almost
get your sash off then wake of sadness. Forceful
but gentle I not girl-scaring want to explain
not like Jim explain his inight in jail so
fly-around he explaing other nights in jail.
No hello river in the sky then. When someone
love you, good to be afraid making in that way? Not
nice among dumb bamboo thickets, ga-zillion
crickets not one Thelonius Monk. Ha ha
only so long. I grow cold. Soon snow
fall on the no more factory.
posted by mdlc @ 3:32 PM   1 comments
umaasa sa unang ulan ng mayo
Thursday, May 04, 2006


They seemed happy, the five of them.
They seemed content to have their own archeologies
rotting wild beneath the glassy surfaces of their words.
Sometimes the night would scratch its eyes
as if to say, "Hello, hi. Do you remember?
Once I told you that I looked out my window
and remembered..." what? They seemed to have forgotten.
Was it a strand, a hand that can't be held?
Such long, long lines, dragging towards a smile
pregnant with memory. They seemed hungry for home.

Or were they just getting old? It was a Monday,
and one of them felt as if he belonged
to the moon. It was a parachute, and the moment
he looked up he knew that he had stolen a metaphor.
But from whom? Everywhere he looked there was a hole,
a brittle black space, almost plastic, where once,
he supposed, there was a word, or a song,
or a friend, whose eyes shone with the wounded light
of laughter. It was a Monday. They had yearned, so long,
for this. And finally their poems made sense.


Notice: Monday Club Closed

Somebody has locked up the doors.
Someone else was looking for the keys,
and I am circling the house,
I am waiting for the evening to pay me a visit.

Somebody is looking for the doors to the keys.
I knew where it was. I kept quiet.
I hid myself behind the sign that said
"There will always be room for you here."

Somebody is hiding behind the room behind the door.
There are mouths and ears and shadows.
There is no one inside. Instead some swirling
haze, and I know it is just me and nostalgia.

Somebody is crying and I look out the door.
Only myself. Left behind. Leaving.

(spider, seven for a secret, like entropy, i am legion)
posted by mdlc @ 2:57 PM   4 comments
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