Convince others that one sees the world exactly as it is, rotten and unreedemed, and understands that one will change nothing of it not even our aging bodies.
Yet believe in the secrecy of ones soul that one can improve the world, even the neighbor of stage who sneers and cackles when she sees you.
Make her beautiful like politics, noble like justice, and generous like life. All turn in circle, so and how little it matters if she is vicious, if one is vicious, if the world is old, because all turn and stop not. Otherwise it’s death, the death people loathe or welcome, which despite everything never misses its secret rendez vous and lurks in silence, prompt to gather someone, anyone in its arms at the least excessive sign. The anguish of being no more is banal, one wears it on the forehead like an invisible tag:”will die one day”, and engraved in the feisty spirit:”as late as possible.”
Nothing is to be done, one is born mortal. Nevertheless, everyone precipitates ones life differently. Some people save and manage life like the budget of a country with an imminent crisis, others consume life intensely and fast as if they have only few minutes left. Most people, however, either resort not to think about it or emulate someone else life.
Still none of it matters, life holds everyone in the palm of her hand, and magnanimously question ones existence. She tickles and throws ones vulnerability in the face by simply asking: “who are you?”, and “what are you doing here on earth?”

one.
giving you up
like ignoring
that itch on my leg

i know it’ll pass
if i just

wait.

but you’re so soft
cooling my sweat
slowing my heart
easing me to sleep every night

and the worst part?
i can justify you

two.
dont forget when you almost
died
and i was there to pull you out

remember how i held you
and watched over you as you cried

do i lose
points for bringing it up

why do you fear salvation?

On the bottom step
A lone pine cone sadly sits–
Grow me a tree.

Through refracted beams,

Across the diamond I saw

The fence vibrating.

When i tell you things from
deep within i feel exhumed and
exhausted and as
vulnerable as if your next
word could be a
lifeline
or a noose.

(And sometimes i feel this way for days.)

small things, strange things,
things in which
my wife is always amazed.

like taping stargate
and watching it all day;
or the thought of sci-fi friday
not being too far away.

like new video games
to play on my wii;
and summer vacation
giving me leisure just to be.

like burt’s bees wax
and its surprising tingle;
or the Christmas season
and the coming of kris kringle.

like listening to indie music
and finding new bands;
or watching strange movies
that take place in distant lands.

like sitting at home
alone with my wife,
focusing only on the present
and not the rest of life.

Sometimes

all I want is

to say something;

but the words…

they

won’t

come;

and the wall

PERSISTSSSSSSSSssss

of places that people go
and the things people say
to sound better to themselves

recalling three members of the
red hat society eating high-
end cajun food at an overpriced
restaurant and saying repeatedly

“tar-jshay” you shop at “tar-jshay?”
oh i shop at “tar-jshay” too! how i
love “tar-jshay” i’m so happy that you
too love “tar-jshay”

of cheap goods we cannot help
but love and loathe shopping
elsewhere when we can buy off-brand
cornflakes for 9cents/ounce

1 dollar
1 box

chew on cardboard but refresh with
off-brand honey by “whose-it-a-honey”

1 dollar
1 bear

of the things i call places
because they make me laugh

recalling two members of my family
sitting in a free car in a wealthy
neighborhood laughing at ourselves
and our fascination with

tarshit
and
wal-shart

My Dwight bobble-head

Makes me laugh

As it nods away

On my desk

Making my office

Not so dull.

there are certain things i heard
in childhood about pine cones of

which i can only say that i hope
they turn out to be just not true

(two distinct viewers of light on a train;

perfecting perfection and the properties therein)

i’ve awed the sweat from a crouch-hidden blushing glove

     jump off just in time to avoid being party to a beheading

but

i’ve admired most battles bested by

   positioning

      and foreseeing

that

relegate blows as unnecessary

Why do you bother me so?

Why do your unblinking eyes never look away,
From my eyes that cannot be torn from yours?

How can you always smile,
When my life is interspersed with frowns?

What is it in you,
That causes my need to erase you?

Why do I look for the wrong in you,
When these feelings arise in me?

I have been trying
for twelve years
to learn Tagalog—

even though it was my
first language.

poetry began because of lost love
or something like it

writing continued because the writer
needs a plight

for reasons unknown to him
he sabatoges his relationships
fails miserably

and finds a plight

writing stuck around because
life was hard
people were mean
hope was lost and
difficult to find

then one day i looked and saw
writing stopped because of
wedding

wedding
stopped my writing

life was not hard
days were not lonely
jobs were not boring
hope was easily found
love was next to perfect

and is

writing started again
because life isn’t sad
its funny

and
writing went on
because writing is where
i can do anything
take a look
its in this poem

an emo without a plight
a punk with perfect hope
and music so sad i want to cry

makes me laugh. and then one day i looked and saw

language is just as beautiful describing
the loss of
a four legged ass
as a two

little bugs
i cannot see
and they are NOT
nice to me

I experienced epiphany
at the age of nine
upon discovering
over a plate of spaghetti
at a friend’s house
that not all American families
eat Rice

with every meal.