poem

At the beginning
and at the end
You are doing the same thing.

I hope you find your way home, Filipino.

Poetry is not like knocking on the front door
Saying hello
What's your name?

Poetry is waking up drunk
and realizing you are neighbors.

she lay fat and sated by kisses
the ground groaning beneath her
cherubs and angels and green limes

i quested to greet her
love: a sojourn
a sunset cocktail