A Lousy Mirror

beneath your

skin, a father

tilling

soil with  tears 

he won't show you

oh, to be an

egret passing angels . . . 

amanogawa

these are 

my words, not a

plastic 

smile dangling in 

front of cowards!

be still . . . 

brother cockroach 

is passing

a peacock

breastfeeding her

baby to

the lullaby

of passing cars

crickets in

bunkers tapping

out psalms

sailing 

through a sailor's

dream

to the hell dante

wouldn't talk about

   autumn noon . . . 

the rustle of a

carabao's tail

haunted at

night when children

lay in bed

staring at closets

filled with monsters

sunset . . .

holding a soldier's

entrails

unable to

sleep, i listen to

godzilla

for the seventh

time this evening

cloudy night . . . 

sleeping with a

restless moon

the same 

words above your

head in a

caption borrowed

from my ex-wife

she leaps into

the milk fish's mouth . . . 

with a candle

the stench of 

dragons, the drone 

of locusts, 

a laborer bowing

to mirrors

morning quiet . . . 

the field holds

its breath

this river

will never sing like

the ganges . . . 

her quiet sold to

the highest bidder

listening . . .

a gnats whispers 

between breaths

dancing nude 

with guys who want 

to be girls

at the wonderland

amusement park

gray skies . . .

she takes her time

. . . undressing

eden passed

me today on her

way to the

airport to catch a

a flight to america

sultry night . . . 

rockets whistle

at me!

let pigs fly!

i'm tired of playing

house with you

in a castle

made of wheat straw

gray skies . . .

sipping coke zero in a

videoke bar

my inner

child hangs from 

a rubber 

tree in vietnam

singing, "that's all"

early morning . . . 

stars sip moonlight

with the boys

those eyes!

a television set

playing

old movies in

a cheap motel

summer storm . . .

an old rat lights

incense

ulam and 

rice; a worn out

moon sings

karaoke over

the pasig river

sell peanuts 

to no one's child,

don't pass go,

wade through your own

vomit and . . . SMILE!

mowed grass . . .

a half naked boy

digging sand

what will the

dead man say when

his house is

torn down to make

room for the living?

full moon . . . 

a prisoner peeing

syllables

  a cockroach

talks to me in

the dream i

had last night . . .

waiting for the scalpel

the naked 

boy with a hair-lip

. . . and rain

does he dream,

the beggar on 

the busy 

sidewalk sleeping with

an out-stretched cup?

a couple

stretching shadows

into dawn

only the

waterfall in

my mind

sings to me when

jeepneys drone

after dark . . . 

a beggar changing

shadows

the old

woman selling

dried fish

swats flies with

a make-shift moon

in the highway,

selling cigarettes . . .

one at a time

---------

(for my daughter, krissy)

at the dock

wondering what 

to do with

the line mooring

what's left of her

those eyes . . . 

pools of thought playing

with fire

chastity . . . 

the gray skies of 

morning 

lighting incense

to cloud buddhas

quiet! 

the pond is

. . . whispering

mirrors

bow in the field

to clouds 

on their way to

the palengke

      autumn morning . . . 

a pond moving

shadows

her 

reflection at 

dawn . . .

pushing clouds

into dog shaped huts

a gray-eyed 

woman weaves herself

into autumn


      autumn rain . . .

father followed

sticks 

of incense through 

paper lanterns

milk fish asked

me if he could eat

her shadow

walang cafe . . . 

i sent them home

in paper 

jeepneys lit with

votive candles

this evening,

like all the others . . . 

dark!

in the

quiet between

stars, the child

with a hair-lip

gulping darkness

sitting at

an empty table . . . 

the fish seller

our house guest

stares at me through a 

crack in the 

wall like the villagers

of south vietnam

twilight dawn . . . 

a pod of shadows

cross stitch clouds

an add-free

promise behind 

every

curtain, dangling

from her nose ring

twilight . . .

wading through a

frog's belly

behind her 

smile, a child watching

the same

video over

and over and . . .

twilight . . . 

a tadpole swimming

upriver

darkness . . . 

wondering what to

do with thoughts

parading through 

me into walls

that tree

without leaves . . . 

heavy rain

friends beg

me to come back

before

it's too late, my

vomit chanting tantras

turtle . . . 

your shell a sanctuary

made of stars

she glares at

me as if the world

is her lair

and lions have 

every right to roar 

nightfall . . .

the same old

bowl of rice

i bow to

no one, typhoon, except

to God; a 

a jeepney fording across

ash clogged streams 

walang typhoon . . . 

an old man sucking

shellfish

 is he

senile, the old

man talking

to stuffed  animals

or . . . married?

late autumn . . . 

chancing wetness

with a kiss

she stood 

in front of the

kitchen sink 

shuffling leaves like 

an old west card shark 

robert d. wilson

©2010