To dedications, and how sweet words can do their intentions no justice.

Words hold great power, strength that could stop tanks or let two find their hearts. Or so it is thought. Words fall short of potency and of perfection. Rarely does it ever happen that words add up to meet the right moment. A line said too early, or too late. A misplaced word that ruins the context of the sentence. A con-versation not to have taken place,or should have.Words cannot properly convey their ideas to their fullest extent. Yet here, that ‘exercise in constant failure,’ a term given by another, abounds. Because in that constant failure, beauty can be found. Found in the crevices of non-ideas, the unabashed nothingness, the worth of unsaid things, and the brilliance of absence.

Look,

Gravityuneven footsteps sound on the front porchscuffling of feet and fumbling of keyscondensed drops of whiskey-scented breath fogging up the window panecreak of the door and muffled curses in the foyer as he makes his way inside and stumbles into my armsbloodshot eyes highlighted in cold moonlight bruises already forming at the sidesbloody knuckles, callused fingersrough and warm, against my skinthe stench of bar smoke on his clothes of cigarettes and stardust of cheap booze and pulsating lights of sweat and broken promisesfor his hands have been on someone else tonightweight of his chest as he leans against methickly corded arms trapping me against the door nuzzling my neck and whispering apologies in my ear excuses i’ve already heard all the other nights beforefingers intertwine with mine, even as i turn away but he pulls me closer; pulls me to the stairsand my feet follow without permissionpulled by the weight of his gravitythe attraction is intense and instantaneousthe collision leaving me reeling and desperate for moreand so i stay, stay ’til morning stay through the aftermath of our explosionand pray that there’ll be enough of me left to piece myself back together until i fall into his orbit once more.

Anonymous

DreamSome nights I lay in solitude

Thinking, dreaming, getting lost in chains of thought

My thoughts echoing a silent soliloquy

Shards of moonlight penetrating through slits in the windows

The scent of coffee wafting from my white, nondescript mug

My legs placed upon the table, relaxed.

My eyelids trying to deprive me of consciousness,

But the rest of my body fights and says no

Suddenly, I was in a familiar place

It was a familiar feeling

She was there. I was there.

No tension, no anxiety

We talk as if we were old friends

We talk as if we there wasn’t anything between us.

We look at each other as if we had something

She inches closer. I do too.

The air is electric.

She puts her lips close to mine.

“Yes”, she whispers

My eyes open

The reverie is over.

Fanciful thoughts put to an end.

The solitary silence so loudThe scent of coffee gone, the ceramic mug cold

Reality puts me in my place yet againThe reverie is over.

Jack Smash

My Love, Forever…Anonymous

IAs people they say, there is always someone:Someone who will care for you,Someone who will love you very much,Just wait for it, and don’t be tough to search it.

IIAnd that, I have found it to you!That ‘someone’ who completed my puzzle,That ‘someone’ who made my life special,That ‘someone’ is my love, that ‘someone’ is you!

IIIThis is just a simple thought,Especially for you, my only love!Despite of all mishap and dreary,Hope you like this very much!

IVI am so really grateful!I had met a girl like you,Who comforts me when I’m alone,And always there in times of bliss.

VFor all the times we’ve been through,For all the effort you had exerted,For all the treats you had granted,A simple “Thank You!” won’t be enough.

VII know you won’t forget me,Even if had hundred friends,There’s a special place in your heart,From where I am can be seen.

VIII love the way you make me smile,The way we laugh and hold each other’s hands,Look after ourselves and care to each other,That’s what a relationship is all about.

VIIINever will I break up with you,Even though problems try to split us.We will cope with it together,And together we will put it right.

IXI love how we walk and feel so close when apart,Our love is ever lasting, for every beat of our hearts,This love is right, it has never been wrong,No matter what happens, I’ll love you forever.

XTruly, I will always think about,The love and care we had for each other.For you are my first love,And from that, it would have no end.

XIAs this poem comes to an end,Always remember what I’ll say,“I will always love you!Today, tomorrow, and forever!”

Birds Who PrayA faint tangerine glowlight the valley belowlong shadows cast overlittle huts of squalor

At daybreak it beginswith faces marked with grinwith eyes filled with ardorand thoughts teeming with gore

Before the rays have creptT’was time to pay his debthe who has lived astrayand wronged the birds who pray

Through gates of salvationthis house of damnationwhere he summons the flockand feeds their minds with guck

The birds who pray flew inhushed but rage fires withinrid of naivety and years of bigotry

As so its says in lore,gone are the times of yorefor now the death is hisHe who promised them bliss

Horace Cimafranca

No one meant to offendBut look what happened; look what hap-pened hereLook at this mess that you have madeLook at this mess I helped create

Revive, restore with surgeryOr time apart to fix this deedSever the ties, avoid the liesWe'll find a way; we'll find a way

Oh, mighty captain, mighty captainThis ship is sinking fastI would like to blame the stow awayHe fiddled with the mast

With no intention to dismantleHe took this thing apartWith no intention to dismantleHe didn't want his heart

I'll keep this secretBring this secret with me to the graveNo one can know; no one will knowHow the ship was to be saved

DismantleTimmy Jacob

Another Year

SingaporeClouds come, greying skies.Ebbing and rising like tides. Fit for the sea lion.

JR Nepumuceno

Joby Guerrero

I am looking By the windowI saw you You saw meTypical memory

But then you didn’t do AnythingAnything at allYou just stood thereSmiling so Brightly

I wanted to go out Hug you And say HiBut I also didn’t do Anything

I wanted to Say thingsThings I haven’t said But still I just couldn’t say

But I know, This is a dream Another MemoryIt’s been 3 years since You left meWho would have thought, You’ll die early

a remnantJude Geron

Pictures fadeWith the passing of timeThe sharpness of colorAnd the exactness of detailLost to the wear of the agesThat pass without endWith no mean to end Lost to memoryAre the colors that vibrantly shoneYet were merely representationalOf the beauty they reflectedThe captured joyAnd a prized smileSecond to none

Take meMoscovitz

Take meSwallow me wholeLet me slip through the darkestrecesses of your soulI’ll flowquite languidlyWillingly putting myself into your handsTake meLet me travel through youOpening your deepest scarsUntil I see fresh bloodI’ll tell you that they never healedbecause it’s trueIt’s there, painfulAs painful as the first timefresh blood broke free

Unbound meRelease me from my shacklesThen take mePut me under your feet and crush meLet me feel the cold dirt under your shoesCrush me until I am dust,bones disfigured and muscles limpUntil I am part of the ground you walk inTriumph in that thoughtbecause you do it everyday

Hold me tightly

Until all air escapes my lungsUntil my cheeks turn blueAnd until my veins burst from the strainSqueeze the life out of methen cut me in halfthen into even smaller piecesUntil your memory of me is shreddedLike the jigsaw puzzle on your floor that you never finishedThen burn melike paper, like withered leavesPut gasoline on me so that the flames will reach the starsThose tempestuous lights that I’ll never see againThen take me until my body is no more. ***Take me from where I amDrag me across the freeway on a hot summer dayYou drive with the windows down and the AC offYou suffocate me but I don’t com-plainIt was an easy car rideYou don’t even look at me onceWe stop at an exit whose number I don’t recallYou gag me and push me out of the passenger’s seatI stumble on the hot sand

rocks gashing my kneebut I don’t mindYou look at me for the first time that dayA sneer materializing on your lipsYou lean your head back And spit all your disgust on meStraight into my soulYou turn your back and leave me on the groundYour car disappears as quickly as everythingTake meFind meand make me whole again.

againAnonymous

Why your voice constantly rings in my headLike a car alarm that just won’t stopReverberating, echoing

Why I overthink all the fucking timeAbout what you’re doingWhere you areWho you’re with…

Why it stings when you look at someone that wayThat piercing interested stare I see you giveNot to me

Why it’s themThe ones you look atWhat is it about them

Why it’s not meYou glance at secretlyAnd think, what ifLike I do

His Wish Had Come TrueVan Guno

He was about to give up,Nothing else to try,He was losing painfully,He couldn't tell another lie

He walked along the sidewalk,His misery hidden in shame,A heart so cold and broken,She was the one to blame

One gloomy afternoon,He was seen in the park,Among the rosebushes,On his face shown a mark

His smile was grim,His eyes bloodshot,He looked as if in pain,Standing there to rotHe picked up a rose,The thorns dug deep,It was like her,Someone you can't keepForever was he trapped,In an endless dream,He doubted everything,For they were not what they seem

He longed to be free,To feel the skies,But he was chained,To his earthly lies

The thought of a bird,Able to fly,Free and simple,Flying up so highYet, a storm was dawning,Wild lightning struck,Horrific thunder roared,And that bird was out of luckThe rain poured down,He was still standing,As the rain drops fell,His tears kept pouring.

Then came one day,A day to remember,It was a grave sign,On a night of September.

He was on the floor,No one knew what to do,Only one thing was certain,His wish had come true.

Thoughts About A Collective ‘You’Sam Gonzales

I was thinking about you the other dayHow we seemed to totally hit it offI thought I’d be alone with my pretense and enthusiasmAnd how I still am

I was thinking about you the other dayHow you say witty, charming thingsAnd how I say a bunch of shit that I think could be endearingBecause I try so hard to be

I was thinking about you the other dayHow I’d like to tell you that I was thinking about you the other dayBut not in a creepy way, but with misguided hope, and a bit of longingI think you’d be creeped out anyway

I was thinking about you the other dayAnd how the frequency of my thinking about you is getting troublingBecause the pit in my stomach says you’re probably never thinking about meGuess I’ll have to think of something else

Lone WolfWithin the forest,Hares travel through peacefully,Into the starved maw.

JR Nepumuceno

There in the boxDerek Parrenas

There in the box, lay the soil which ourcountry

lives upon.

Therein the box

There in the box,

we walk through pillars of water,creeping through the coral

a barefoot nation waiting on the farmlands

re-claimedreclaimed

lands/areas/territories

There in the box;trees, mountains, people,cities built with foreign hands,

foreign money in local lands,rivers, fish&fishermen,cars driven by empty man,empty schools of destitute brands.

There in the box,

There (in the box),

A purple sun rises with

the roosters,

call center agents emerge from structures,and a lonetaho vendor stretches his legs.

There, in the box,

a sinful metropolis lives withsaintly countrysides

flags, blue and red [with a sun and three

stars] wave, wave,

and flutter downwith the

wind.

There in the box,

lives a few within

walled towns,

like the pale-cream fortress

those old Spaniards built,

surrounded

bysprawlinghighwaysandstreetsandinformalsettlerswhoneverseemtoeat

There; in the box,

is a gold-plated promise

with a hand gripped tightly on

a rose-scented rosary

and a greasy hamburger, in the other

waiting by the road

that leads to

something from nowhere.

some haikusHorace Cimafranca

Three little peoplein search of companionship.Two little people.

Next station, BurnhillGive the old lady a seatNext station, Burnhill

No Idea.Anonymous

Why does it have to be you?I can’t help myself. I just can’t make myself forget about everything.After all this time, it’s still you, and I hate and love it all at the same time.I can’t even hug you when I want to.I can’t even see you when I want to.I can’t even look straight into your eyes without these old feelings coming back.I’m with you but I can’t be with you.It’s only a matter of time before this kills me inside.Very soon.I miss you is not enough. It will never be.How I wish to be the “other one”.-From a man I just met today

The fucks I giveVito Castañeda

The Southern MonsoonSol Cortes

In the country clubTears shed, feet planted firmlyUnable to move Unable to speakFinally accepts defeatSacrifice chances

Past fascinationsLinger in the humid airReligion hinders

Hank MardukasTimmy Jacob

Intimidation gets the better of meIs it simply a lack of self-esteem?I’ve taken the dive and only now start to rethinkAm I in over my head? When will this all sink in?

Tell me: Is there room for progress?I swear I think I’m getting nowhereI leaped off a cliff with arms outstretchedTaking risks like these might as well be my death

I’ll take two steps forward and get pushed three steps backLose all momentum to get myself back on trackI’ll choose to give up, retreat, and fold“You win some, you lose some,” but I lose quite more

Clouds of Cotton CandyAlvar Aquilino Santos

Catch me as a passer-by.No regrets.You would always look the same,And yet I would always feel the same.How I cringe and die inside.When you walk across from where I would always stand and wait,Time would seem to stop.No regrets.No hard feelings or melancholy.You’re always beautiful.

Words won’t be enoughJoby Guerrero

It’s been a while since I’ve written a poemA poem that’s close to my heart, my homeIt will be a poem that I’m willing to shareDefinitely a poem about someone I care

This person I cannot wholly describeFew words will never be enoughSo I’m willing my feelings to be transcribedIn this poem, I’m hoping to craft

And so to you, the one I dedicate this toI’m hoping this will remove your blues

You’ve been there when I’m sadYou’ve been there when I feel badYou spoil me with the things I wantA cookie, a doll, you did grant

You loved me with all your heartYes I know that from that startYou would never leave me in the darkYou never left me when we heard that bark

I cannot surpass the patience that you haveTo take care of me, my sisters and my brotherI cannot outdo the perseverance that you haveBeing the partner and wife of my beloved father

A million thanks would never be sufficientA billion sorry would never be decentI love you I will say it again and again Thank you for being my mom and my best friend

Of Shores and ShorelinesDerek Parreñas

In between the eternal night sky and the abysmal sea,There we were, sitting on the shifting sands, just you and meListening to the sounds of the waves, the weak wailing winds,And the lost souls of old lovers repenting for their sins.

The whispers of broken promises become forgottenHere on this beach, where notions of affliction are foreignWashed away by waters that drag them to its deepest depths,Where not even the celestial gods can hold their breath.

Consumed by the bleak sensations of the blackened heavensThat beckon to death and destruction the faith of all men;The warmth, the comfort of your presence invites me to stayBringing forth courage to make me last ‘till the break of day.

Your graceful hands, they tremble, fearing what the future bringsNot knowing where to look, because of joy and sufferingFinally, I catch your eyes, I see the fear in your heartYet, we both know, our souls can never completely depart.

Cursed, this affection may be, repressible no longer;Stilling your slender arms, we stare, hopeless, at each other.We speak swiftly in silence, stars beginning to appearFinding our true selves in the words we speak, gone, is the fear.

Drifting away while making declarations under oath,Eloping in the space within your eyes both,I am lost, not knowing where we are nor what time it is.Nevertheless, this immense senselessness can be called bliss.

So when the moon finally calls on light, we will be hereOn this shore where despair meets delight with nothing to fearHere we are, sitting on the shifting sands, just you and meWaiting for the sun to greet the limitless, lonely sea.

Watching from AfarCarlo Magsino

Baffling stares, stolen glancesFilled with fear and uncertainty

Gleeful and spirited as you may seemInside, a timid soul with a blurred dream

Burning time in such a vibrant company

We weathered almost all severe featsWe were high up! Alas, you did not hold tight

I was left in pitiful fright

You did not try,You left me high and dry

Cowardice, such horror

A tragic story for a link left brokenScreaming whispers from your sorry kind

Screeching murmurs from my wandering mind

With your constraints and limitsI found bleak solitude

Nevertheless, I came to know myself betterI am proud to have been ever stronger

A great lesson,

Of the sincerest pardon

Put out the fire and rebuild the bridgeWith a patient spirit, I will forever waitI will hear your thoughts and remorse

Let us start anew with no force

May hihigit pa ba sa‘Kamusta’? Anonymous

Makakalaya pa kaya mga salita sa gunita?Paulit ulit sa sarili Lilipas na naman ba muli’tmagsisisi? Nasisilaw kasi ngiting abot ang ningning sa mga pantingin Di malirip, di maguhitDi makuhang tumingin nang higit sa isang saglit Sakaling makausap ka muli’t makatabi: Maari bang guluhin Buhok mong laging tuwid?Maari kayang hiramin Kamay mong aralin ang laging kapiling? Matatawa rin ba Sa mabababaw kong hirit? May pelikula rin bang pinapaulit ulit? Ano’ng awit bang hilig patugtugin? Sino’ng laman ng bawat panalangin? Ano’ng nagpapabilis Sa pintig ng dibdib,

Nagdadala ng tawaSa ‘yong mga pisngi? Ako lang ba o iisaang nais ipahiwatig pungay ng mga mata? Maari ka bang hiramin?Makausap sana’t makatabiKahit minsan, kahit palagi

entropyAnonymous

this is, first and foremost,an apology.when i triedto traceyour roads and alleysi led you into uncharted territoryexposing all your faults and cracksmost of which you did not knowexisted.i do not know when your heart aches, or when it bursts with joy.when i said the most inadmissible of thingsit destroyed you.i’m sorry.i forget that my words are fuelthat you are flammableand that embersstill have the powerto start a fire.i do not have the power to extinguish you(nor do i want to)and the only choicei am left withis to let you burn.but i promise youyou will be fiery, intense, briliant.and when you are undonewhen your flames die outi will gather your ashesand keep you safe.until the time you have pieced yourselfwhen you are whole againforget me, leave quietly.soar.

The SummitJude Geron

To be at the topAnd see the worldFrom a new perspectiveIn perfect isolationAt the peakConquering the climateNear immortalIt is a fabled placeLeft to the imaginationOr stories of the braveDetailing triumphThe glory of life, they sayIn full manifestationTo dareTo riskTo sacrificeTo make the climbTo see life unfoldAs the heavens do.

giving upTimmy Jacob

Is it worth it playing games that you know you’re going to lose?It always comes down to a point where you must chooseHow to spend your time. Wasting it trying to winOr backing away ‘cause you know how it ends?

It ends with you wasting time you could have spentWatching TV, or lying down, resting your head‘Cause it’s tiring to try when you know that insteadYou’d rather be wasting time lying on your bed

FirstDerek Parreñas

First, you are nothing.And then you are a person.And then you are a face.And then you are just a name.Then, you are nothing.

We live.

TYVMJoby Guerrero

Thank you for making me feel this wayIt’s been a long while, I have to sayThank you for making me smile all the time It’s been a long time since the weather’s this fine

Thank you for reminding me that life is funIt’s been a while, I might have to runThank you for reminding me that it’s okayIt’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to stay

You don’t know what you can do to meYour smile, your laughter, even you teasing meYou don’t know your effect to my lifeYour actions, your words, even your strife

You don’t know what I can doTo see you smile, laugh and a tease will doYou don’t know what I’m willing to sayTo see you and your actions everyday

I am really hoping you’re now on your wayActually not, I just wanted to sayYou really make my skies appear blueThank you very much for being you

This boy is Little TimmyHe stands on Picadillywaiting for Little Lilywho instead came to see me

Horace Cimafranca

untitled

When Eris Had a PartyKenneth Reyes

Are we historians? Are we aviators? Don’t sell your disillusions to those Latin Ameri-can communists. My heart gave out to you it seems centuries ago, in the time of saints. Now we are separated by silicon lovers, bridged by the ether, and what do you mean the poets are hiding? What happens to you depends entirely on another motion. (Now there must be an exit to this cage, where I shrink and wrinkle with age.) And memory–empires crumble, and grasshoppers are substituted by cigars from Vigan, and my epidemic past hey baby let’s face it don’t we love it don’t we this tinsel world? Don’t you know of my mother’s leprechauns? of the elephants that presided over the pharaohs of Egypt? Now they are no longer around, their peripheral traces j-j-jitterbugging like rivers underground. Ohhh shallow Athena, how your velarium gaze proliferates through the continents of my skin. But I know you, I have seen your face before, by the quantum light of my door, I have seen your face before, by the ocean floor, by the garden drawer, and I have heard your science & dreams my lady, your moving cathedrals, your electric philosophers with their sycophants & candlesticks shouting for MR. & MRS. VOLCANO shouting ALL MY FRIENDS ARE GONE shouting like a SONG like TWIN VOICES like THE GHOST OF MY PHYSICAL ENERGY AND HOW FAINT, HOW THE SEEDS OF YOUR VOICE HAVE GROWN, COME ON, THE WORLD IS A MARKET BLOW THEM SALT & PEPPER IN A BOTTLE ROCKET BACK & FORTH TIL YOU BREAK IT — (the tinsel store, your face before) — WELL IN A NEGATIVE SENSE I SHOULD TELL YOU I’M NOT JUST INTERESTED IN THEORY, SPECIFIC TO PROGRESS, LOADED WITH EXPLOITATION, ARE WE ARE WE ARE WE ARE WE DON’T MENTION THE GAUNT ROBBERS BUSINESSMEN IN BLOUSONS and all the same baby kick off your insect socks hey so leave your gloom plus the hostages of your barren 6 o’clock room for now we share it across a thousand hyacinths that bloom as the rest of the story goes acid, acid, acid, acid.

PatienceAnonymous

How long will I have to endurethis pain they compare to winter.This feeling I myself is so unsurewas blurred, and started to wither.Why did I become like this?Why do you still want me and not want me at the same time?I’d rather find answersthan endure this winter alone.But then again, I’m stuck in this plane of realitywhere we can never be.

Let Not This Moment PassJude Geron

Let us share this fleeting momentTogetherThe lamp nearbyReduced to a trickleWe fadeWith the dying lightTime isEscaping usWe grasp itWe refuse its continuityThere is no other place in spaceMore favorable for my existenceThan hereIt isFor us.

Form 156Derek Parreñas

The microscopic myriad of it all deluded meLeft me cold and hungry and sick and destituteWhile facing the enormous mixture of travels with cars and trucks and ships and planesWhile treading at early dawn with a notebook in hand but a pencil missingGreat walls of tar and cotton masking the ineptitude of death,Making life seem all so fragile, hopeless, worthlessI faced the angry moon in all its radiant pearlescent light borrowed from other heavenly beingsAnd in doing so I had come to face the void in myself for the moon is naught but a reflection of a person-A person who looks at every street corner near Atlantic City hoping to find God laying there in the garbageA person that runs towards the direction of where the birds fly even if they fall to the cracks of the EarthA person living in a sea of shame and wires called the internet that beckons every second of time and space, leaving only a masked janitor that cleans after itselfA person hiding behind the boulders of mountains in the Caucasus looking for asylum in the arms of a lifeless forgetful cadaverA person hunting tusks and horns of psychedelic mixtures shaped in the hands of powerful leaders running free from the grasp of the soul – I saw it all as I looked into the moon, O cheeseball of the evening, harbinger of the morning, ageless pacifier of lost couplesFinding purpose in the night without stars bursting with light and cosmic radiation, I forget after the first second“Run to the holy Istanbul, land of Mosques and unveiled women,” many angry men have told me while I faced west to see with my burning eyesThe deceit of the biological clock and in its deceit, the humility in the limestone reaching out to man’s ego“Face my naked soulless box of experience!” screamed the limestone at me, but its words do no damageFixed, my path is, a dusty forgotten path where vines and old car parts have covered it completely

No one can remember where it leads, if there is a path at all, if it leads to painful salvation or blissful betrayal“Walk, and walk quickly,” the old sage of beggars and hobos tells me, his eyes full of wine and gritEvery wrinkle in his angelic face holding dust and grime, his every action keeping in characterI set off to find meaning in my illustrious path, surrounded by discarded ink car-tridges, cigarette butts, cans of Coke, and carcasses of rats

Celestial BeingsAlvar Aquilino Santos

I miss the Sun.I miss his light and his warm touch on my skin. I miss how he can make any-one smile and look forward to a great day. I miss how his mere presence exudes happiness and warmth.I miss the Moon.I miss her silent smile and illuminating grace. I miss the fact that even though she is shy, she makes you curious and explore the world. I miss her feint beauty only a selected few can see, and leave one in awe.I miss how the both of them made you smile at one point, and light your already perfect face.

untitled SongAdriel Arguelles

I took my timeBut these paths continued on wastedI waited for Good for nothing veneer So I headed on Thought I’d see the light of dayHalf a step behind your course Just let me be and fade

What have we here?Broken pieces of my heartWhat have we here?Stolen shadows from the dark

Stumped to even say a swordThis shit has gone too longYou’ve kept me on and onStop leading me somewhere I can’t runI know soon all these faces will pass from places pastBut you’ll still be the one I’ll wake up toWishing you were gone

What have we here?Broken pieces of my heartWhat have we here?Stolen shadows from the dark

Tell me, tell me all the words I want to hearOh sweet, sweet darlingI will wait, I will wait, I will I wait for you

This weighted heart can’t haul no more

Can’t love no moreCan’t fight anymoreWeeping for a songThat voices all this pain inside of me

I will wait (3x)

Still I took my timeWandered off these wasted pathsStill waiting for Good for nothing veneer

MotiveAnonymous

It remained at the back of my mind ‘tilSomeone asked me, that I’d leave EcosocWould I miss the greatest joy or the breakOf the heart that I know I couldn’t fake.With greatest honesty I could utterYOU’re why I lived awhile in EcosocWrong motives I had and afraid I’m notTo mean almost everything written above.Younger I was, being an active memAnd you were the attractive senior guyIn my closed mind and dreams, you had it allLibrary rat, manhunt, you were quite tall.Your Math elective was the reason why I took that unnecessary Math classHere’s another same org, and I intendNever, my motive I can’t defend.Coincidence that in the libraryI just happened to stay, then you went close‘Till you sat down beside me, you’re just thereAnd made me feel you wanted to be close.I was afloat until the day that youHad to leave Ecosoc, wear your sablayWith that last photograph, you said farewellAnd all I could say is, “You take good care”.And just now I could say so truthfullyYou were my big anchor in EcosocJust now did I realize, a secretThat my safe self kept, knowing I’ll regret.I could be a shameful EcosocerHaving that reason for my membershipBut oh boy, if only I figure outYou’re me, you just haven’t figured it out.

This Modern LoveMoscovitz

It seemed like it was only yesterday that she was doubled over on her tub and Tracy was washing the blonde dye off her hair. She was pissed drunk that time (wankered was how he would call it) and she found it quite amusing how the dye was swirl-ing off into the drain and in a few moments, her hair wasn’t going to be Kool Aid pink any more. In a few moments, she’ll be just another blonde on the street with a ridiculous obsession with coffee. Of course, he’d disagree to that because he always thought she was beautiful. He wasn’t even sure how to begin to describe her. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she smiled whenever he’d play his guitar for her. She was beautiful because she didn’t know she was a song waiting to be written so that he could sing about her someday. Right now, she was sitting in front of her dresser and taking her piercings off. They clanked as they fell down into the metal bowl where she put all the gold ornaments that decorated her ears and nose. She was focused on making herself look decent and passable because she planned to hop off on the bus to Thames so she could spend the afternoon at the Design Museum. She knew he’d love it there. He had a taste for modern art and she wanted to tell him that she’ll be listening to one of his mixes while she was going through the galleries. He made really good mixes. It was his thing. He gave her every single mix he’s ever made. He always brought a couple of blank CD’s with him so he could burn it into them when inspiration hit him. Usually, it was her and she was why he made good mixes. He thought it was just proper to let her hear how wonderful she was to him, how she made him create art. She looked at herself one last time before she left her flat. Her hair used to be a tousled mess of Kool Aid and she found it weird how typical she looked. Now, her tousled mess turned into smooth waves gently brushing her cheek. She winced and wondered how he would feel about it. He’s never seen her as a blonde before. She was always a pink mop of mess to him. She wonders if he’d laugh at her because she looked so sane and white-washed or leave and then come back the next day with a poem written neatly about how snakes shed skin but end up more beautiful after each time. His poems were like that most of the time, simple (funny, even) but they had this certain way of making him transcend himself from his mind to paper.

It was a cycle he could never get rid of. He left London a month ago, without a single good-bye and without even re-arranging the magnets on her refrigerator to a clumsy “bye.” There was something in his gut that made him drive back to his flat to get his laptop and stuff all the clothes he can into his luggage and hop on a train to Kent. He felt the country was calling him to write and maybe he’ll find the words to the song that said, “I love you,” perfectly so he can sing it to her. But now, he knows she thinks he’s a complete asshat for leaving her and he doesn’t know how to say how sorry he is because during his whole stay in Kent, all that was in his mind was her and how much he wanted to fill a records store with mixes about her and makes novels about how she sets his heart ablaze. He wanted her but he didn’t know how to go back. ***There was something about the busy streets of London that captivated her. It wasn’t like New York where she grew up in. New York was noisy, dangerous, and dirty but at the same time full of life and stories that she wanted to know one by one. She thinks there was something mysterious about the streets of London, like how the fog covered the city with secrets and the rain always washes away her thoughts about New York. They were sitting in their favorite table in Starbucks that night he told her he wanted to come with her to New York. He said he wanted to feel what it was like to live in the center of the world but she gave a small laugh of disagreement because she thinks London was far more beautiful because it brought her love. It brought her to him. ***They met in the bus. It could be the same bus she was in on her way to Thames but she didn’t want to think about that right now. It was the weekend that time and a lot of tourists were piling in various places in the city so when she finally got a bus to stop, the only seat left was the one behind the driver and he was sitting beside the window. He was wearing that ridiculous orange beanie she hated, until now she reckons she wants to burn it whenever she sees it because it reminded her of a ripe orange mu-tated with a carrot. Plus, she hated carrots and he looked like one when he wore it. She should have just opted to stand and hold on to the disgusting handles on the ceiling instead of sitting next to him that day but she was sleepy and she didn’t know how to sleep while standing up so she had to be a slave to her circumstances. Fortu-nately or unfortunately, it was him.

She already knew he was good-looking when she took her seat so she had to save herself from the awkwardness of sitting beside a stranger for a good twenty minutes so she put her headphones on and listened to the record she brought all the way from New York. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She had this sweet face that contrasted the shock of pink that was her hair. But more importantly, he could hear the music she was playing too loudly through her headphones. He was quite concerned about how loud it was for her and he didn’t want her ears to get damaged but then he laughed at himself for caring about the hearing condition of a complete stranger and a girl, at that. But he couldn’t resist the fact that she was playing the Virgins on her iPod and she was bobbing her head in time with the beat. It was rare that he found strangers who knew that band and he was resisting the temptation to rip her headphones off and talk to her about how much he wanted to see the band play live but he couldn’t because they were from New York and he lived in the dreary streets of London. Later on, he found out that she was from New York because an old lady hopped on the bus and since he was a gentleman, he offered his seat to her and in the hustle of asking the pink-haired girl if he could pass through, her earphones fell off and he picked it up for her. That was the first time they made eye contact and many months after that, he’d catch himself thinking about that moment as he sat on his windowsill looking at the city. Things seemed to have worked out for him because he got the courage to ask her if it was indeed the Virgins she was listening to before she put her earphones back on. She said yes quite enthusiastically and by the time the bus halted in front of the Design Museum, he found out what her name was and they were both going down at the same stop. ***Contemporary art was like that first shot of tequila you had when you were an awk-ward fifteen year old, trying alcohol for the first time at a house party. Well, that was what she thought to herself any way. It took time to let go of conventions and merely enjoy the fact that sometimes art doesn’t require much thinking and analyzing. It just has to be appreciated as it is and all you had to do was look at it for a good few minutes. They spent the whole day in the museum together. They went down the bus along with a group of tourists and they agreed that it was a good idea to follow the tourists

around and listen to their half-assed, quasi-intellectual musings about contemporary art. In reality, all they heard was, “This is bullshit,” the whole time and they laughed every time someone said that. During their time switching from one gallery to another, she discovered his name when he let it slip and that he had a nice head of curls underneath his horrid beanie. He got to tell her that he went to the museum often and he got his membership card a few months back just to save up on some money during his visits. She hadn’t thought of doing that before and he offered to come back with her the next time she went there so he could talk to one of his mates who worked there to give her a special discount. She was quite embarrassed at how nice he was to her and later on, she’ll know that he was one of the nicest people she ever met. They had a lot of good laughs that day and their conversation flowed unbelievably well. They liked the same music and went to the same pub (he found it quite funny how a pink-haired girl slipped his eye whenever he was there) so when they were in the last gallery, he handed her a mix tape as a parting gift because back then, he already knew she was special. She seemed pretty excited about the mix tape and gave him her number as thanks. And now, almost a year after, she was back in the museum sitting on a bench, looking at one of the abstract pieces while listening to the very same mix tape. She hadn’t visited the museum since he left. It wasn’t the same without him hum-ming a made-up tune as he stood beside her, grinning as she looked at him in the hope of making him quiet. He’d only hum louder and sometimes, he’d hum into her neck and she’d be embarrassed because people looked at them. He didn’t care though. He was happy with her and he liked the way her giggle rings in his ears. She wonders what he was feeling when he made this mix. She always wanted to ask him that but she always forgot because they talked about so many things and the question would silently creep to the back of her mind, always left unanswered. ***Right now, he was on the train back to London. He had a pen in his hand and he was about to write something. He wasn’t sure what, though. Maybe it was a letter, maybe it was a poem. Maybe it was the song he’d been waiting to write all this time. Suddenly, it dawns to him. He wanted to tell her about the very first mix tape he gave her. The one he gave her on the first day they met. So he writes.

About how he all he could think of while making that mix was meeting the girl he could write about. He filled the mix with songs about the type of girl who would sweep him off his feet, about the girl whom he would wake up next to every morn-ing, about the girl he would write songs about. About the girl he would love. And then it hits him. She was that girl and all he wanted was to make her know that his prayers had been answered.She was every song, every verse, and every poem he wanted to write. She was his and he wanted to be hers until every word was drained from his mouth and until his pen ran dry but he knew that even until then, he’d always have a way to say that he loves her and he’ll just have to keep finding the words for that because this time, he was staying and this time, he knows she’s far too precious to let go.This time, he’ll make sure to make her never forget that she was the girl he’d always been waiting for.

your poem here

your poem here

Cursed wretched formsToday the garden

and the sky forlornthere a child and

it all washes awayto drown with sorrowsand be lost in the fray