that night in antipolo


Flashes now, of that January night

In Antipolo –  the arctic tempest

The widowed trees atop sable linings

Before my glassy beam

Plundered swiftly when my friend

Out of nowhere, brought me inside his car.

His face, primitively full, spelled sympathy

Ad his lips, cobbled – cold will reveal

That spatial tones are fathered by

The man in the moon. But

I was shameless to expect such pontification

For he was, that night, playing courier

And it was left unsaid.

Piece by piece, he narrated.

On and on, he undressed the telephone chat he had

With my miracle worker – my space boy

Almost indoctrinating:

YOU’RE WHARFING THE WRONG SHIP

Bedazzled by the wrong gem. Stop it.

Flashes now but I think I saw red cotton balls

As I sat on the periphery of soul comfort,

Inside that car, safe somehow

From the boy who just broke my heart.

Quickly I was escorted out, migrained,

Eyes marshed, salt on my tongue

I heard myself cry I HATE LOVE

All the while singing.

Ooh, these little earthquakes***here we go again***

Around me, whispers of KEEP STILL

Over a sordid chase I was happy to take

When taking meant a love unfulfilled.

Then ice cream was served. Raw tales

Of life smudged. Broken rhythms, fawned ether.

Flashes now but the last memory I have

Of that January night was when

My friend and I danced to a U2 song

Two peeled boys clasped, eyes closed

Breathing each other’s demons…

It may have felt like making love

For I began hearing the ocean back home

Though I knew I was on alpine grounds,

With my friend, the messenger

Who didn’t tell me that my wishes belong

To the infinite space, fathered by

The man in the moon.

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