magnifying glass.

i see the ants convulse

melting under the glass

magnifying sunlight,

seen by so many as great.

why i decided to kill

those poor ants

going about their day,

human condition cannot explain;

why we are all so silent about pain

in the dark ditches of our neighbors' land,

where the families of ants huddle and cry.

why my friend and i decided to kill

those poor ants going about their day:

complications made too plain.

when we grow our brains,

we watch them burst.

busy thoughts on busy streets,

of this medium town,

empty by night,

when there's nothing to do.

i cry too

though i don't feel their pain:

what a burden am i,

what a fake.

telephone.

"hang on," she said, unsure of what she meant by

"hang on" because she did not want to tell a lie

to say "i will return" was a guarantee

she was not ready to make, so

"hang on" silence on the other end

long distance communication was always hard

telephone calls never served them right

the coils that connected their ears

same circumference but different location

one after another

dependent on each other

the coils that connected their ears

always plural and bound together

no beginning or ending

they "hang on"

she took a walk around the room

looked at the dust on the windowsill

the wastewater dropping down from the neighbor's air conditioner

she paused

grabbed the muscle-fat layers on her neck

and pulled until it hurt a good hurt

looked at the telephone murmuring

still "hang on"

still unsure of what she meant

and continued the make-believe pause

because time waited impatiently and was beginning to walk

"hang on" (she spoke it with a sigh)

"hang on" traveled weakly through an exhaling breath

through the coils that connected their ears

through the long distance phone call placed on pause

"hang on" without its beginning or its end

was caught somewhere in rough transport

was never delivered

was simply "ha..." or "gon..."

was silence on the other end

not "i will return" because she will not return

because "hang on" meant she will try to return

but no promise there

(though it might be nice)

(though it might be false)

so

"hang on," she said.

hide/seek with God.

the way that God runs away from me

wary

i want to lift the skirt up and see

there is nothing there for me

i want to peek

at the image of virginity

why man wants to be

the great almighty

but never succeeds

why i

why i would love to live

as much as i would

why i would love to die

when the world erupts in acne

deposits of dirt and fat

covered in oily skin

and hot lava flows when i press

hot pressure hot pain

hot days of summer love and lust and dead bodies and

zombies of mine

hot blood flows and hot blood coagulates

strokes scheduled for yesterday, late

so late

in the evening the lifeguards leave

combing people off the beach

danger is near, or so they say

why i

why i would love to stay

so late

in the evening when the lifeguards leave.

this is what happens.

first i was trying to write a report on something weird when i took a trip to the place of action and became the main character. i was chased by some evil creature-witch-like-bitch who wanted my multi-million dollar inheritance. i narrowly escaped, with the money, or most of it...and transformed back into myself.

i returned and played with friends who decided to visit...went back to my room...and people surprised me.

with torture.

"you see, this is what happens when you possess what non-whites should not possess."

they took out scissors.

they got close to my body.

i felt like i realized this was a dream. but maybe not. but maybe so. i felt like i willed them to move the scissors to certain places when i realized that maybe i shouldn't have...

oh my God, please don't cut me.

squirm, i squirmed

pinned down by murderous

pretty white women

scream, i screamed

though i did not hear it

i hoped somebody else did

when

a man and fellow rescuers

freed me

and switched my position with that of the girl who held those scissors, switched the origin of the pleadings from me to her, and i felt like

someone who has just been

saved

in time

not too late

but almost

my wish came true.

there is a God.

money.

racism.

i need help.

i have nightmares when i go back to bed after waking up.

seaside.

lacking fire you

throw the wood into the furnace

you try to light the dark

you try to kiss the love

throw the hand on the breast

throbbing hearts you

toss the hair aside

toss the clothes aside

still as cold as evening sand

salt water rushing you

then hear the whistle of a congested nose

then hear the ruffle of a rushed start

so slow the heart moves you

just throw the wood

 just throw the wood into the furnace.

the wall.

sometimes when i can't sleep,

i bang my head against the wall,

listen to the ache and ring

kill some brain cells along the way.

i guess it wouldn't hurt

if i put some music on

and listen to the lyrics of

a man and his guitar.

but i'd rather not.

you'd mistake me for an insomniac.

not to say i am not one,

but that i just don't know.

sometimes when i can't sleep,

i think about the words and

murmurs

of cars and strangers.

i listen to those sounds in silence

until the silence breaks.

i listen to those sounds in silence

until the silence breaks.

listen to those sounds ache,

ring against the wall,

a man murmurs,

his guitar breaks.

a short continuation.

for the first time, some time after she had begun to fall endlessly, she started to cry.

she wasn't sure why they came, since she had been almost certain she had accepted the domination of indifference and apathy. but the tears did come, slowly in line, jumping out of her wrinkled lines when they felt like it was the right time for letting go.

--suicide of a different sort, part 2.

if i remember

if i remember correctly,

that year, and the one before,

half my mind disappeared

in the chubby cheeks of a child

born by heaven, faith, love and truth

in a sudden, sweet, and forgotten death

seen by none,

heard by one,

felt high up

on the osteo

porosized limb

of a dearly rot

ting tree.

suppose the symbol of freedom from sin

came on that day of flying sparks of screaming light

in bright, bold colors meant for blinded sight,

when they told me not to worry for the poor choices

one could possibly make in life

said they in that wise old mannered way:

try this, try that,

taste the good and bad,

you'll find the best and worst,

you'll find happiness, you'll see.

and i said in that rebellious ingrate way:

and what if i try and taste

that poisonous mushroom

on my first day?

well, what then?

if i remember,

i was six?

when he first touched me,

our parents did not see.

i felt all funny, sprawled

on his back,

i don't remember

if i asked

for that piggy-back ride,

or if i asked for his fingers

to get so high

up, up on my thighs.

i moved myself

out of his hands,

but they found me,

again, not once,

but twice.

i don't know how i jumped

down from that height,

twisting my body,

from side to side,

until i made it

just that clear

that i did not like

two-legged pigs at all.

if i remember,

i was eight?

when she first touched me,

front and back.

at the restaurant,

there we sat,

i with her

on one side.

i do not recall

the food at all,

just the cold palm

under my shirt.

sliding slowly

up and down,

in small circles,

melting pentagons,

her fingers searched

small bits of me.

skin in goosebumps

prickled in fear:

i just sat there

in my chair,

my feet dangling in the air,

my feeling her ice

cold on me.

if i grew fat

over the years,

don't blame the hormones

or change in palate:

i just wanted some

distance

away from some

memories:

permanent grime inked

on my skin.

if i remember,

people blinked
too fast

when they first touched me:

they said they were looking

for someone named joie

who hailed

from this place named vivre

and it was always about

the moment,

right here,

right now.

and "carpe diem"

strangled the day.