I used to stare at my watch
Seeing how slow a minute arrives
To the next
Working at the moviehouse
You learn things about
How they build up the first 20 minutes
Asking you to invest emotions
To the protagonist
And how he could be you
In a bind
With choices you’d take
The last 20 will always be about How the first act plays out
Against the third
Category: poetry
Sevens Away
Fate is a line
You agree to
Knowing the next day it may not be fulfilled
Laid odds on the table
Willfully ignored
Sense of Uncertain Inevitability
My mind sounds a quiet alarm
Racing to some place I wish
I knew where
So I could take it there quicker
Or at least know
The location to find it
Instead of this overwhelming
Sense of losing
And she almost
Mockingly said
I thought you knew what to expect?
As Dust
Specks
Same Time Next Year
….And I thought my job
Was mostly about
Logging in and out
Squeeze a card
To never wishing I’m here
As it turns out
Lost in a Glass of Musk
Numb and irate
The audience laugh in unison
But can’t find reason
To unite
For a cause to save ‘em
We, collectively, not necessarily for the same reason
Just want to be entertained
Fickle, the Mind of Someone Who Only Knows What It Doesn’t Want
This would’ve been perfect
Had you chose to
Not swerve at the curb
Now the spectrum of colors’
Muddied, dirtied or gray
Unclear, pixelated, blur
One act to ruin the whole
That irreversible knowledge that one peed in the pool
The bad taste one will never shake off
No matter how many times the mind restarts, gets retooled
This would’ve been perfect, he insists
On denying unaddressed cyst
Led her to the sterile table, to slaughter
But he isn’t pining what’s almost within his reach
It’s about taking this leash
Reeling it as all else starts to
Most of Life’s Explanations Don’t Make Sense
If now this tiny kismet crash
Serves prelude to a jarring conclusion
In between breaths of how the surface felt
Believably done well
Until the curtains fell
Unraveling the contradiction
Noise in Layers
We used to be a side street nobody knew
A detour one takes when
They’re running late
And EDSA is reenacting a nation’s
Revolution
This time with cars
As people feel revulsion
To the next idle car
Who wouldn’t fill the gap
Fast enough as another cuts him in
Good Grief
As the ones left
Yearns for the one gone
Maybe the stories told
Ease the pain
Of a heart torn
By memento mori’s
danDAman 