Describe to me what is milking the once reigning, once terrorizing, once unfulfilled promise of the power.
Describe to me love, and honor, and patience, and forgiveness. Describe to me how it feels to receive
One apology; to me, what rarely forgives.
But the descriptions fail the newly bred,
And the fascination steals from me.
Welcome to the water. Liquid forgiver. Liquid grave.
(AMEN, AMEN, AMEN, GAY MEN.)
Describe to me.
The expansive years where we don’t talk to people,
And associate only with those interested in the things that make us who we are,
As limited as we are, buzzing as we are away from the Senegalese sun,
Have made me tuck myself into undesired folds.
(The bed that is lucky can only accommodate so much gray.
The bed-makers have designed it in the most uncompromising of ways.
Tucked behind their ear was the most exquisite pen.
I know they will write something great by it, and about it.
I know it will be greater than all existing poetry combined.)
So I passed the judgment collect onto a box that was meant to burn and not incept.
(The box was full of stolen elations. The box born out of a kink.)
Everyone who does not think is just so horny for one villain’s certain redemption,
But how can you redeem a soul when it’s already destroyed another?
How can you tow the remains of assailants?
How do we not remember their destructive ember? AHIMSA!…
(This… This is the end of an era.)
I rowed the deliriants back to the banks of Manila.
I took all the betahistines.
I pitched progress and béchamel.
I colored the roads like flesh.
I am there. I am there.
Wherever the tangerine hearts exist,
I am there. I am there,
Living, breathing, becoming, and unbeatably drunk
Believe me, if you can beat me,
Find me behind the long shadow of the Broken Menhir rip-off.
When you hear the tumult five steps from my personal tumulus,
You will come to believe me. But come only if you can relieve me of the usual trips,
The usual choices from all the usual sins:
Laserdiscs, blandishments, produce and snacks,
Promulgations, and malabsorptions, and canceled trips to Jardin des doms,
The majora theoria, the horrific ordnance and my mom’s terrible horchata–
These are things that I would list if I were a lover left in half in hell.
Hell better have a farmers market. Hell better have air-conditioned outsides.
Some times, I fail to hear the scripts of the giants.
Some times, I still mourn the vanished power of the usual reign.
The unarranged people are my city’s most fascinating.
You precious cupcake with a contusion, believe me,
They are the most independent out of all the unbelievable stains.
When the bank promotes the richness of the body, the djinn is set to boil.
Money issues are more a-banging than the certain issues of the soul.
Drag me around. Drag me, and tell me how
The mental hardships are just as difficult as the bodily ones,
That the hungry body is to be attended over the mind that has been starved.
It frustrates me when the See doesn’t get that.
Equidistant, the populars that are floating look like decoration.
The university thoughts of many have already sunk.
I will have to learn. then, how to dive,
I will have to equip myself with a new sword, or scalpel, or underwater suit.
I will have to avoid learning how to die.
Ride, ride. In the water, we ride.
Describe to me,
Describe THE GUILT AND GRIEF
For the sake of art, describe
to me, describing to myself. La da-da, la da-da, da-da da…
I loved a soul so unchallenged,
once upon a time. Once, once… La da-da, da-da, da-dun da-fucking-da…