Part I: TROPICAL DEPRESSION
Part II: YOUTH IN ASIA, EUTHANASIA
Part III: MY LOW
All works of poetry are stand-alone yet if read in the given sequence-
A story will unravel.
As usual, all my works are studded with hidden messages.
Hold my hand, then your God's on the other. We'll walk you out of this storm together.
1) Anatomy of a Fool
3) In Itaewon
4) Morning Routine
6) Tropical Depression
7) Heaven to Hell
8) Memory of Mother
9) Multiplication Table
11) Take A Sip Of Our Lemonade
12) I land
15) Psychopathic Psychedelic
16) Methamphetamine Hydrochloride
17) Mountain City
20) Durante Dos Décadas
21) Worst Gaze
23) Baguio Bouquet
24) Wordless Legacy
Anatomy of a Fool
Dissect me with your sharp eyes,
across my chest
to let the breeze
that caressed your hair
cool my spine.
Until then, oxygen is an old cripple
crawling in my lungs.
My heart: the beggar on the steps
of your mansion and it wouldn't mind the taste
of your feet.
Crush, I beg of you, crush!
my young bones, oil my joints,
and ignite it with your tongue of fire
or better yet, use the smallest spark as
I weld slow with you
dilating from the dark.
Cut my wings
for your pillow to be plum-
at night, rest on my burning muscles
And when you leave,
Leave breadcrumbs in your direction
and I'll fight the birds circling
above me- for I starve for your
When I stare at God-
I bloom like an open wound,
A flower of flesh begging for daylight.
Whichever makes a corpse feel special.
I chew the words out of my fingers
on a dying phone- a blue gate of insight.
When I stare at God-
My tongue wags at my mouth walls,
Yet they never licked the air-
They graze every teeth gate
Until the taste of something metal-
Visits every billion buds-
And they bloom,
And they flower,
Like flowers of flesh begging to be picked and be called...
a sharp breath.
Now in the white shoes of my Korean Teacher-
among the crowds...
In scarce weather, trapped in prayer, the Neon and Halogen glow now halos of angels for all soul's day
In Itaewon. Seams and hems of clothes, clashing like dominoes, souls rising from Seoul,
while heaven widened its gates above Itaewon. Wrists twisting twice, toes stepped on thrice, peeling our skin & breaths thin- with postures pronouncing: splatter!
For the bones were water- and the flesh were waves, and Death was a sailor casting nets & graves & I was screaming with a hook on my mouth: Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! God!
Then I went back south...
In the openness of the mountain city...
Where there was no electricity to blind me...
like the streets in Itaewon.
And I let the wrath of Paeng embrace me,
and lull me back to sleep,
pillow wet with tears-
Sea of red shoes,
In scarce weather, trapped in prayer. A sharp breath, eyes closed.
Breakfast: spreading butter on a loaf of bread-
And I remember your sameness on my bed.
Naked afront news forecast of storms,
A burning Bush between your legs where God speaks from.
And I kissed the flame like Judas's betreyal on dread-drenched lips fresh from the agony in the Garden of Gethsemane
In Sorrowful Mystery.
Funny: you remind me of why
they named such temporal disasters
I sip a cup of coffee to burn
with a newspaper to burn
from bad news:
And I'm reminded of you.
Raindrops fell as knives,
The Tropical Depression,
Sharpening my mind.
And the winds of Paeng whispered for every tree to fall,
My condominium embraced by pine trees took its toll.
Condensed with electricity-
Saturating for half a century-
Where the news was always old,
45 dead, 18 missing.
My countrymen drowning &
I'm 1/2 writing, 1/2 screaming.
The sea shredding itself like my newspaper- As flood entered the mouth
Of my motherland.
And I wrote: I've had enough! O!
the colors of her dress.
Chaos sewn! Embroidered with death!
As she spins in our rooves and
In a deadly dance devastating the 'already dead' rested on mudbank graves, the demons in destined hell,
the deaf demolished
from her damp dirge.
Another morning to mourn...
Another night of fright...
The little lass left laughter for family-contained cars floating upside
-down as brown waters rushes through the lungs of children like a first breath. And I screamed:
"I've had enough! O!"
And on her watchful eye, akin to a father.
The world beneath was craven to make a sound, akin to a mother.
He, a dangerous calmness, she of unsettling stasis,
Only happens if the world is between the screams of God and Satan.