Chair Variations

I surrendered my severed limbs
to the mercy of nails
to become whole again.

*

I have offered my flat surface
for comfort.

I serve many, indefinitely.
I never learned
to count the hours.

*

Sensing your restlessness,
my sturdy form keeps you still.

*

My back remains unmoved by your back.
I knew you'd lean, eventually.

*

I am behind and beneath you.

*

Despite the common intimacies,
Solitude is my loyal companion.

*

A touch is always foreign;
one person's grasp
is unlike another's.

*

One day you will not resist
the urge to carve words on my skin.

*

My skin is my memory:
I keep the marks you leave,
the deep and undecipherable
as well as the names
you carve yet forget.

*

Everyone is fleeting.

I remain unmoved
and never used to it.

*

I am grateful you keep me occupied
however momentary. I accept
this is my purpose.

*

I recognize the warmth
of your body at rest.

I keep this for as long as I can.

Dumaguete in May

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life." - Green Day

\

Passing

Some nights don't beg for sleep but keep your eyes locked in the dark staring at the nothing that has passed your body so many times. You must have caught it once, maybe twice, then went on to somewhere more important; a celebration where firm hands would clink glasses full of wine. Try as you might, you can no longer recall for whom the party was, or what was so eventful you were glad to be there that night. But it was where everyone placed their life on desires as though the endless meant the sun would fail to rise. Anyhow, nothing, for so long, has passed: It is no longer a question of how much time you have wasted. Hope is a man on a train who missed your station because he was busy pitying the drunk who fell by his side. He was always passing, and wherever he went, he was expected. He had everywhere to go.

Memory of an Accident

It was a Saturday night after a long day of walking around the filthy holes of the city. I had a bottle of beer with a friend at one of the those run-down stalls that dare to call themselves bars. I decided to call it a night before the next unworthy indie band played. 

I went to the parking lot and started my car. A public utility jeep hit me from behind while I was backing out of the dark parking lot. I was shocked, I couldn't move. It was a hit and run. I drove a bit and pulled over to the nearest well-lighted spot. 

I stepped out and checked my car for the damage: the back bumper was bent and the right panel was dragging down the pavement. A guy was walking on the side-walk and saw the ruin which was my crushed back bumper. I said "hey" and asked for help. He said he'd come back. 

A few moments later he walked over to me with a thick plastic string. He helped me tie the bumper just enough so I could drive it home in one piece. When it was done, I thanked the guy and drove away. My hands were trembling all night, it was a wonder how it controlled the steering wheel. Adrenalin kept me going until I finally got home.  

This is what everyone knows about the accident. 

The Artist Inspiring Other Artists: Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen in the '60s-- he looks a lot like Pete Yorn here, don't you think?

Leonard Cohen is a poet, novelist, and musician inducted into the American Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008. His song Hallelujah was originally released in 1984, covered by John Cale, and later on covered by Jeff Buckley’s haunting vocals in the ‘90s.

Baby I have been here before

I know this room, I've walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew you.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

Maybe there’s a God above

But all I’ve ever learned from love

Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

It’s not a cry you can hear at night

It’s not somebody who has seen the light

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

Hallelujah cover by Jeff Buckley

In one of Tori Amos’ live performances, Leonard Cohen read a few lines of poetry before the song “Silent All These Years.” It is the 2^nd single from her debut album, and is, I believe, still the most outstanding Tori Amos song to grace the airwaves.


I've heard of a man who says words so beautifully that if only he speaks their name, women give themselves to him. If I am dumb beside your body while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips, it is because I hear a man climb the stairs and clear his throat outside our door.

Silent All These Years by Tori Amos, with words from Leonard Cohen

This Summer

let's see how this one goes

to the other side of myself

i'm having bouts of self-mutilation in my head again. most days i feel this lack of energy does me good only because it keeps me from destroying this body. the images come in succession when i'm trying to focus on writing, and mostly when i'm trying to find rest. it keeps me from sleeping. it's strange how one can be so restless and yet feel so weak. the restlessness sustains me with an illusion of control, while i feel weak when it finally becomes a kind of physical anxiety, as if i'm squirming for air in a tiny room. awful, this failure of not doing. the frustration arrives when i see how i've wasted so many days, months of my life, accomplishing nothing important. 

you see, it's hard to love yourself when you've been in conflict with it for a while. self, you keep searching for different ways to resolve concerns, even opt for temporary solutions, to find another way to live; anything but the ways myself has suggested. see, here. i have paralyzed myself. settling for the things i have and still managing to lose them isn't a favorable streak. and i know it will not work; what i want isn't always what i need. self, you might want to do yourself a favor while you still have the time. already i dread losing you to contempt. get out, and while you're at it, why don't you do some real talking?