Hey, daydream daydream
The oil dying to steam,
The steak flipped over the grill.
Butter, garlic cried
To grieve such sight,
And your knife sawed away all my limbs.
from ん, 2015年2月13日
observe me on bent telescopes
speed zero myself converges
on screen see from colors
the moment therefore theory
of no movement becomes obsolete for
recorded memory common knowledge
codes error-prone slowly corrodes
yet correct to two modes
remote controlled myself (be)longs
from ん, 2015年2月6日
The only things accelerating this instant: a freefalling
apple pie and its scent. The floor fogs of warmth.
Steam diffuses like how crowds surge during
rush hour. Elevators, and escalators still
like nearby turnstiles. Passengers remain
as bystanders, as if permanent installations
behind scarves and face masks, concealing
breathing. Disappointment is the same eye
tinted red by the words before them
Delayed Human Damage Accident Delayed Human Damage Accident Delayed Human Damage Accident Delayed Human Damage Accident
from ん, 2015年2月2日
Waves rewrite territories. When the city expands
its circumference, the curves of signatures turn
to hard edges. Settlements end with approximation.
After tremors, seawalls rise, suspension bridges
the idea of subdivisions. Residing in a port town
risks loneliness. He was an isolated vertex.
What matters is to generate edges resembling a delicate web. An intersection
for at least three new corners, each sidewalk swept by brooms, tires,
a body. Unpolished bricks imprinting patterns when I sleep. A new map
to keep, lose and keep again. Marks fade with each new cardboard
box stacked folded and flat. Seasons only disappear when one adapts
to temperature. Soda fizzles to solution. How can one measure
satisfaction? Fog becomes smoke. Continue, accumulate. The city
takes care of itself, of how it is wound.
A line passing through the city’s edges
more than twice is a violation. Here was
what you have abandoned. You are foreign
only once. Depart and arrive at each
iteration of a home.
A sidewalk beggar–
Long Live The Great Emperor
from ん, 2015年2月1日
I was right not to be
afraid of any thief
but myself: who becomes
tomorrow, the future, a dream
sequence, but my selfish
version yesterday? How come
I am not enough to earn
gazes from polished jewels,
not even the same second glance
to a rusting copper coin? I turn
myself inside a store where
a mannequin fits my silhouette,
but wearing an attire looking like
I will trade my soul to own.
Without telling me how, I am
left with my mask off, call police,
arrest me now. Just so you know
without telling me that I have
a right to remain
silent. I am anomaly.
I am fraud.
I am everything you
should keep an eye on; so for now,
you can begin as yourself
another day without fearing who
will end by leaving me
Katipunan, Quezon City
10 December 2015
How much pain does it take
to become immaculate? Create
immense heat from breath, surging
inside the surface glowing orange.
Immolate the heart. Hold
with sandpaper hands until
cold. When breaking, must be
as fragile as bones. Slices
of lifelessness forming limbs,
foreign face. Against resemblance
assemble without attachment. These bodies
of work are not one to own. Cry
until tears solder them whole.
When dry, blind with sunlight.
from a collection