Passing Through

And it came to me then that every plan

 is a tiny prayer to father time.

-- Benjamin Gibbard, “What Sarah Said”

Who leaves without pining to flutter back? Waking to warm sunrays through the windowpane,

We would write our plans on colorful stained glass, the promise of bright mornings, more days

For our wills seeking years to come. As these visits were reduced to waiting before you breathed

Out an entire story of the soul, a heavy stone must have formed inside my throat. Who chose the

Day, the time, the place? We sat clutching hands and embracing ourselves through one another

Inside spotless rooms with space so bare as to let minds fly leaving our stoic automatic bodies

When the eyes would turn white, when our glass plans would fracture and let harsh sunlight in,

Burning holes into our dreaming eyes. Until then, I have not for the life of me, grasped what has

Become of this containment after there are no pertinent words enough to pronounce the swift

Passing of sparrows snagged in flight; the incessant wreckage done by the exactness of flat lines.

For Mama Sol

See What I've Done

Air

i

Somewhere certain music plays gradually

Easing harmony and smooth rhythm

Like deep water through breathable waves

Swelling: a gathering of a hundred whispers,

Of lows and highs resonating a full chorus

And slowly letting go to begin a new song.

ii

In the attempt to capture the invisible,

We resort to amplify all four senses:

To touch, smell, taste and hear—

And those blessed with susceptible ears

Catch even the slightest sounds from afar.

iii

And I begin to mind how our songs fill minute

Fissures, shadowy bends, a hairbreadth’s length

Of a hole, the immense space—within

And between. When distance and proximity

Equally persist and mean nothing.

iv

Listen to the pervading wind whistling over

Vast oceans and heavenly peaks beyond

Pallid cliffs. It's unperturbed method of movement  

Bending fields, carrying seeds, and sifting earth

To scatter all elements, again and again.  

Il Signore

The Prayer of St. Francis

Il signore, mi rende uno strumento della vostra pace
Lord make me, make me an instrument of your peace

Dove ci e odio, la sciarlo seminare l'more
Where there is hatred, let me sow love

Dove ci e ferita
where there is injury

Perdono
Pardon

Dove ci e dubbio
Where there is doubt

Fede
Faith

Dove ci e disperazione
Where there is despair

Sperare
Hope

Dove ci e nerezza
Where there is darkness

Illuminarsi
Light

Dove ci e la tristezza
Where there is sadness

Gioia
Joy

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek;
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love

For it is in giving that we recieve,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying that we are born again
To eternal life.

Il signore, mi rende uno strumento della vostra pace
Lord make me, make me an instrument of your peace.

arranged by Ryan Cayabyab

Sad is Her Temper

Words create lies. Pain can be trusted.

--Audition, 1999 directed by Takashi Miike

I don’t appreciate it when a woman leaves

Without saying goodbye. I woke alone. You didn’t

Care to write a note. Were you always like that? Leaving

Without a trace? I had to search in dilapidated

Buildings, but nobody knew who you were.

That old man was laughing at me, mocking me

With his monstrous feet, telling me to go home.

You loved ballet, you say? You thought it dissipated

All that darkness you cradled. But darling, you’ll never

Dance. I should have listened when he said, Happy people

Can’t act—but as you lay there on the smoothness

Of white touching the sinister long scar on your thigh,

I could only give you love. It’s not my delusion alone

But yours. So, would you please just get to the point?

I’ve had enough of your seductive syringe and leather straps

Listening to that excruciating voice as you go deeper,

Deeper, deeper, deeper. You wearing sleek latex gloves

Matched with a girlie white dress was amusing

For you. Painful recurrence. Who wouldn’t grow 
Fond in repetition? This is how you keep appearances up:

Inflicting scornful punctures on my throbbing tongue, sides,

Underneath my eyes. How much practice have you had?

How perfectly you cut off feet with your trusty wire.

Oh no. No. I will not succumb to that alluring stare again,

Or the tenderness of your words as you speak so keenly about

Sadness and pain. That’s all you knew. It’s all you’ll ever know.

Winding up

Winding up bed covers stained with piss five grumbling stomachs the last aspirin consumed in the morning through mounds of reeking garments when to repair a broken faucet clogged toilette settle last month’s water bill clean with left-over bleach and soap just pour hot water or better yet just get last night’s fried fish and brown bahaw and catch the whiff of bacon and eggs from the neighbor’s adjacent window looking out to trodden pathways where hawkers lurk to strike a deal for the latest fabricated pair of Chucks nuts balls cigarettes mugged leather bags menthol candy and stealthy exchanges for cheap drugsdrugsdrugsdrugsdrugsdrugs along the crooked asphalt reach the junction and pass partial pipe-laying drills drill drilling drills drill drilling drills drill drilling stony earth liberating dust soaring debris caught in the eye tearing up silent sighs further upsetting the previously peace-less mind attached to a body racing in god-forsaken trains blasted buses scheming taxis hasty jeeps slapdashing private vehicles urging invariable departure and arrival to monetary tardiness and compulsory labor of the auto-pilot in you in you in you until the next dark coffee and round of stale cigarettes is consumed humbly getting by with convenience store heists the lottery and highly intellectual noontime shows for lunch

Scores of Assumptions

to exist entails

                        deterioration and loss

our hearts tirelessly

                        insist their ways and 

ache for

                        the same thing

love like a religion

                         i once had

the unheard of

                         is likewise essential

as uttered words

                         we are but a photograph

certainly fading

                         absolutely still

thus far        

                     kept




For Jov