• Three Poems

    0

    Myrrh
    Will you? Dinner’s at least a month long
    You’d be surprised. Our father, charged with assault
    The star not more luminous, just

    Taking more comfort in its own light and it shows
    Over a divided house.

    To each of the prime ministers, a facet.
    Goats and chickens
    Flee the staff, the sheen of plastic

    Valleys await with soft, powdery
    non-biodegradable thistles. Having earned wings

    They’re primed to descend upon the terminal.
    Arms open
    Shoving up the handcarry

    Smiling through the singed feathers of the season.
    What’s in the case? Clue:

    It is one when quiet, two when it sings.
    It twirls? Why,
    What’ve they been saying about me?

    Chased from strength to strength
    Down to your own free will.

    ***
    Long weekend denominators
    The approach is from the mountains
    Upper left-hand corner
    Soft as a landslide. Don’t go telling anybody.

    Will you climb down? Drag wood in our name?
    Assigned to us was trees

    Laying siege upon the heartland
    Light and smoke calling to a halt.
    Our differential at the neighborhood’s convenience…

    Wait, they left work over the holidays?
    Being only as much as you allow your sins to yield you.

    You don’t have to bring me anything…
    Get here. The work will always be with us

    As what had no business
    Arriving from a mother will bear upon you.

    A forest on cat’s feet and my / You came.

    ***
    Corrugated lanterns
    Who once was life-of-the-party
    Now fetal in the slick curb of the parking lot

    Who was frank: insensate where they folded boxes
    As a rule for tearing.
    Change now easy as chimes

    While the goal doesn’t budge.
    Peace was peace no matter how many was had

    How stranded. Finding

    Time irritable
    Angel gave the catheter a whirl: new, improved

    Recyclable as eggshells… see?
    Assured a picture of my visit here, let me

    Apply chunky lotion on these smooth calluses.
    Here, let me take it. Not yet

    One of those nights, pangga
    Having opened my temple to the white of his knuckles.

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