Hello, my child,
here’s something for your pouch.
A blessing from your elders,
a drop of tear from me as well.

It’s not what you believe I know,
don’t shake your head nor pout.
They’re there when you need them,
to remember us by when you fail.

Good night, little mouse,
here’s something for your satchel.
A piece of heart from the hunt &
a bone knife of your father’s will.

I know it’s not common any more
don’t feel embarrassed nor stutter.
There will be time for their use,
remember to keep them safe after.

Goodbye, my love,
take these letters to these men.
There are ladders you will need to climb,
use these jewels while you still can.

I know it’s not the way you’ve led,
don’t be put down nor think me wrong.
A life is not what one planned,
write me when you recount this song.

Indigo pot with Francis,
matcha tea with milk in a jar.
Chickens roaming
don’t know where.
Yes heart, be free
to rise above.

Saturday morning-noonish
breakfast egg
with raisin bread.
Fake fire crackling
in the stereo.
Easy-chair guards the books.

Open the window
just a crack,
summer winds
bring in life.
Nothing to do
but to rest.

Let’s all
take a breath.

And hold…

I’m in love with your nipple,
I’m in love with your socks.
I love you as a whole,
and all the little parts.

When you are packing to leave,
I ask where are we headed?
When you do come back,
I say just this one more time.

I’m yours for life.
I’m yours for life.
And you are mine,
why won’t you accept?

I’m a fool for you,
but you are also a fool.
I offer you my world,
how lovely when you say:

“baby, so do I”.

I wonder if we have another life
when we go to sleep.
Don’t always remember the dream but,
it must be something epic.

Waking up exhausted
have to reorient myself.
Feeling bewildered
have to relearn how to talk.

A different world from yesterday,
yet one and the same.
Have I changed so much?
A night, a galaxy away.

Hello, oxygen!
Wonder where have you been?
I must’ve been kept in a vacuum,
it muffled and grayed.

When the sun is down
and the shapes are blurred,
I invite you to hear the song
in the background all along.

It carries the day away
into a kneaded history,
where all the thoughts are relaxed
and senses run free.

The bugs come after mid-night, when I inquire my brain’s potentiality for sleep. The more the knocking though, the echo pronounces that no one’s home, yet the feel of the anxiety has beckoned forth the hidden tentacles, and they come crawling out, as if being awakened. Hesitatingly they weight in on the fringes of thin lines of thoughts as if to protrude into the quietness of the void and being born right then and there for the first time. Or they are to be expected, to languidly arrive at their destination and all at once, make a single strike. I can write about them.

My cello has been feeling me, I can not hide my fatigue and absent-mindedness from the strings nor the bow. My fingers’ touches zoom in-and-out of my sensory’s palate which I try to grasp and hold on to but they just slip away. Where do I mind wonder? I don’t know. I can’t recall. And that scares me. I want to be able to be present and tag along, especially when a balance is involved.

I’ve been thinking too much. Writing things down before going to bed because they seem to just shaking loose the day’s confines, but they are not fully formed. They seem to me drunk, over-worked dancers sway a little, to the night, toasting to the coming calm. Or maybe they are newly awakened, preparing for their own journeys. I wish I can go with them. I wish I can remember afterwards.

Been trying to find relief from a question asked: “do you wish you do not exist?” What kinda question is that? Upon closer inspection, it’s probably the right question if there’s that. I should be sad, but there’s no reason to be sad once I truly contemplate the question and my answer to it. So I tried to be happy for one day, and That did make me sad. It was exhausting and cheapening somehow. All my happiness (I find I do have some) has been drained from trying to be happy. So I decide that some questions are quite the waste of energy. Luckily I have energy to waste.

Ah, the poem comes on which is… not that good, bed-side pieces…

Midnight channeling,
putting a few things to bed.
“Would you rather not exist?”
The answer hang like a thread.

Haven’t I been here before?
How should I say it again?
In the distance a tree falls
not for this ink and pen.

But you asked the question
with that challenging undertone.
Can I tell you something,
a truth you have not known.

We all walk a very thin line
better not to look down.
I’ve been at a place
there’s no skeleton to be found.

This thing that carries us
turns selves into strangers,
and homes into
frat-houses with mortgages.

So put on them stupid smile,
drown in happiness for Lolz.
It’s not cheating if you lose
just don’t forget your blues.

But it’s not enough, damn it!
Can’t look away from my own eyes.
That someone you have to live with
who’s still searching for paradise.

Good night.

I touched your neck,
it made me smile.
Longed for you last night,
didn’t want to wake people next door.

Pile of autumn leaves,
your ambery gold subdued,
and that intimate something,
I won’t tell if you don’t.

Home for the memories,
silent till them turn classic.
Craftmanship maybe part of it,
up-tight with strings and ivory.

Hold you like a sacred rite,
are you comfortable in my thighs?
Adjusting to you this and that,
until you drape just right.

Cause when I play you,
it’s you who reach out to me.
Vibrate through and through,
doing something I don’t know.

The low makes me tremble,
the high makes me soar.
The more it flows through you,
it’s not me who play the notes.

At first glance,
you are but an instrument on a stand.
But when you are close at hand,
I doubt I deserve you just yet.

But I treat you right, don’t I?
Do you blush under my loving eyes?
What is in a cello like you,
but a devoted soul’s delight.