Recipes, Rhapsodies & other Ritings

                                     pati

                        ,

                                 ako

             ay

           ini

           wan

                               mo

                    kung

                                       san

      .

                Pa

                rang

    ipot

                     lang

                                    .

                              Kala

                            ko

pa

             naman

                                 .  .  .

a red ribbon's under-

lying themes. Drew a blank.

Underlining fabrics of un-

truth. Fragments.

Weakened structure. Hid

some parts of you

falls apart: your

halo, your wings,

your harp.

You flew high

and higher still until

a punctuation marked: Death.

Torture and all its synonyms. And antonyms like rapture. Breath--

'twas the anti-climax.

You rid yourself of blood

and 'm staying

dried up

on your fingertips and 'm staying

alive. I, a word you omitted

(and the needless shift in point of view

stripped yourself naked)

for clarity.

That last night

eating pizza, but a few

words were said.

Your cream of mushroom soup,

cold. I remembered Joel

and thought that maybe

we are indeed "the dining dead".

There's chicken wings and bread.

Your tuna lasagna left

untouched; your bottomless

iced tea, half-empty. And that

drowning silence in between us:

our final course.

Without

the fires now for you

I so desired

to hide somehow the bruises and the broken

bones scattered about on the hardwood floor. I

never learn

never learn and wash it all

away for you, all for you

these little words

I wasted

pages and pages trying to bleed you

out from under my skin

so pale, ghostly

and your ghost haunts me and hunts me

through and through

through the night, through the nightmares

are dreams forever wanting

to be free to escape

these crowded rooms, hands letting go, poker games, vodka sessions, cigarrettes,

used condoms scattered about

on the hardwood floor are

my bones, broken still and the wounds, fresh again.

I so desired to somehow show

I am

without the fires now for you

and yet nothing

but still

nothing.

----------------------------------------

* poetic cheese for I.R.F.

Belated Happy Birthday, wherever you are.

Confidential incoherence

Shallow waters hemorrhage

Some portfolio between the lack of

Consciousness frozen

Delineate prophecies and glorious

Brilliance in coherence

VD

Clams and ideas

On the corners of her mouth--

Venus herself ill

14:59

her famous

oysters

satisfy

millions of

hungry

eyes

squeeze the lime-

light

dry

No. 2

Baked mussels and camote cue

that consequential issue:

two-ply tissue.

Nagsawa ka na rin daw sa

init mula sa kawalan ng

iyong bubong. Kung kaya't

lilipad ka na pa-Canada.

Noon ay kaya ko ring

gumawa ng eroplano--

papel na makailang ulit

tinupi, mga daliri ko

ang piloto. Ang totoo'y

pasahero mo lang ako. At

madali kang nagsawa sa 'ting

mga laro. Tulad noon,

hinipan mo ang hangin.

Nasadlak sa malamig na

sahig, walang mga pakpak nating

pag-ibig. Ngayo'y basura--

papel na pilit kong ibinabalik

mula sa pagkakalukot.