Category: Poetics

, waiting, to see the world

i remember waiting tables, , , more bread? allow me to get you more butter while i make mine…

stacks never got too high, neither did dad’s.
“I’ll take you to Italy,” he used to promise, , , i saw how worldy
his eyes got, buttery, in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, 110 degrees,

i remember waiting to get out,
and i did, , , never came out with a degree, buttered my name
upon loan papers; who the fuck isn’t in debt? must be nice to eat bread…

what does a warm buttered end piece taste like?
in Italy? burro italiano. amore italiana. soldi,
waiting tables, , , in Italy maybe?

13 waiting to be 30 – supposedly i’m supposed to have
my shit together, , ,
i hate commas, and something they call ‘patience’,
there goes another one!

today, i buttered me a piece of bread
It was delicious: every word of it.
serving myself Italian-style
didn’t realize god was makin’ it rain
manna honey. manna n’ honey
shit’s better than butter

italians visit my store in sf
i speak of bay area manna to them
in Italian; non ho fame
i welcome myself to the world: the Present: where milk and honey flows with each buttered second:
manna burying my feet planted
eyes as dry as an end piece, wide open:

for me and for my dad.mmmmmmmmmmmm

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comma coma. promise,

last sorry. promise,

last hiccup. promise,

last loan. promise,

last puff,

last bowl. promise,

last cigarette, promise,

last distraction…promise,

last word. word,

last time, last time. promise … ,

last cigarette, _______,

last ,. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,promise.

…………miles brave

if you can think of what has never been done before, is your story done by someone else.
you lived it. the story, ah, yes! i bet you won’t have the same outline as mine.
here’s the hypo-watered down version, cliff-notes-esque to mine:

 
…………miles braver

1983…

mommy…

bulacan – diwa’t dwende

bakling

Pamilyaya

1990 non-immitigration trauma – stockton…

roaches, mold, asthMAMA!

english: jehoyahwehtnesses

lola dolores – tita myrna

near-death lessons. came outAnthony

bye bye stockton.

sf – city college – 40’s sunset-

mission, s.assaulted, h.i.,vIP

trauMAMAture; Victorrrrrrr

dahdee died 2012…closer to Him

health, the best in my—

consciousness: indigenizing

today: still frigh-10’ed-ing, not pre

one inch doing, 12 miles braving

Flamer

There was a woman

looked at the flame

still [kanyang] body like flame

[Siya] chanted away memories

intention left

future, past, sound

 

Ba Ka La

[Niya] planted in mind

 

glass over eyes

the flame split into–

 

then still like body

the flame became Ka

There was a man…

dream in Pangarap

***this was something I wrote after having a dream about my siblings and I; my father had just passed. in Tagalog, there are two words for dream: panaginip (when sleeping), and pangarap (aspirations). more and more, i believe that there are no separations between the realities of our dream-state and conscious-awake state; in essence, it is through <single/collective> consciousness that we exist. in knowing that, we can aspire to do anything, anywhere, anytime, with anyone – even with dahdee. Habbeeburday dahdee…***

 

 

i had a dream

that the four of us were talking…

 

ka’wa’wa, shock grinding at faces,

i look into the eyes of my brothers,

my glassiness meeting with theirs

my sister, hair over face, chin meeting

breast

hair extending heavenward…

bulky tear-swallowing throats,

heaviness grounding our spaces

and our feet

in this dream, tacitness numbing,

and melting our parts together.

ate in boston

kuya, sa Pinas

little brother, whose not so little, in Stockton

and me, in san francisco…

Dah-dee had a pangarap

because his children were everywhere

and he, He was never here…

every road trip,

plane ride,

balikbayan box, kept him home,

where we all met, glassy eyes

in a dream

of his dream, to die

Where his children were born

Perpetual Victor…

I remember things were very different two years ago…

I was convinced that I was a victor of some sort…when in fact I was one perpetual victim.

Then someone named “Victor” came into my life. He was the biggest bitch I’d ever met (and he became my bf)…

Through our many perpetual hurdles together not having a job failing classes pills daily dose of fist fighting crystal meth ensakurrity victim I have learned to be very careful about what words I put out there in the universe; I have realized how powerful verbalizing (spoken/written) something is.

<Recently> I discovered that even what we process inside our minds manifests in ways we don’t realize. According to Filipino Indigenous principles, it is essential that one develops their kagandahang loob (wholeness of being), of which the root word of the adjective kagandahang means “beauty”.

Seeingseekingseeing our whole state, the power of possibility, as positive responses to any environment will createshapefulfill the visionrealities we marinate over, even before it reaches our dirtylittlemouths.

Victor and I will always be/are no longer together. From our relationship, I learned how to choose to put weight on the shit that will make me
wealthyunderstandingbravepushpositiveinspirecreateexpandpro
ducecollaboratecuntySHINEBETCHSHINE!

I’m even getting post-racial – that’s some heavy radical shit…

MAKE EVERYPERPETUALTHOUGHT=THEREVOLUTION COUNT.

2012 affirmations

success begets success.
so if i am indeed in success, it will produce more success:
the answer to if is IS
i call this grammar play, in positive chi
circling to create a necessary function,
and right now, capital LETTERS are not necessary
you and i are affected more than you realize
the talk of capital LETTERS make my mouth water