The Other Self

Your thoughts race from sunrise

till sundown like F1 circuitry,
or a television gone static.

Every notion of solitude in
a room makes you quiver
like a butterfly in your own body.

Your eyes are danger beacons
looking for someone to warn
of the perils of living, little knowing
it’s your life that you are
intent
on fixing.

I withhold from you my number
in fear of your incessant contact.
Too much of a moment gets you
sizzling; too little, and the winter
strikes the cold whites of your eyes.

I am aware of you dogging
my shadow sunup till sundown.
Perhaps you

are the shadow, my

own thoughts intoxicated
with dark solitude

yet I wish you
away from me,
and I wish you
away
from me.

Into the Wilderness Once More

A forgotten pleasure, this
turning away from cyber
sorrows to absorb the lush
wafts of manicured meadows -

Or rather, the lawns procured
by town councils charged
with the sheer mandate of
development and neatness
of a new town estate.

Legs orbit the pedals
like mirrored moons
and my bike is some
Troy machine of war
scattering the sparrows,
pigeons and mynahs

dividing stranger from
stranger and myself
as my lips imbibe
the voice of wind
whispering joys forgotten
granting names to lost
tokens of the wayside

the hands finally
letting loose
its
taut
grip
on life’s
handlebars
of ruled 
occurrences.

Shy Piece

Last piece dogging
the dish; the table folk
trade glances, then share

that pagkain with a guest
clueless of their cultural
norm: last abstinence.

Ayos, someone says.
“For you, kain!” (smile) I know
how paiseh feels – pink

cheeks meek with health, wealth
of friends – Filipino humor.
It’s just not a good time

to take it.

PDA

Those couple cuddling by train's corners,

they probably know the cold storms of

strangers, staring; yet desire, stoking

fire between their limbs and lips

forces them to smother the crusading
face, locate reddened spots for smooching.

Whether in twain, two become snakes
or passive cats adulting adoring humor
only the teenagers know. I'm inclined to
sink my chin even lower below dimples'
crevices on my device - almost kissing it -
and bless the young creatures their trials
of trysts - (not) guilty of my time on my PDA.

Job Seeker

That tipsy state of midnight sorrow
will not drag the rabbit out
of its hole. And head buried
in burrows of worry, neither
will you find your lost
dollar. The periwinkle flower
once blossoming strong in
your palm, shredded into petals
of worry as you stuff it fisted
in your pocket. Last week, a
hole broke, dropped pennies
for unnamed tramps. Toast
and coffee were all you could
cough up, cowering in a kopitiam
amid this towering city. Yet guilt

has no place in one's life - once
you chastened my beaten mood.
I reach out with the long probe
of a finger, lift your chin to indulge
the flame of the setting sun as it bows
its way beyond the sands of gold.