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A.G. Bawang

Pink

I’m wearing my favorite shirt today
It doesn’t go with my shoes
But that’s okay
Eagle’s swooping for their prey
Has become cliché

I prefer
The tiger sniffs the daffodils…

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Tuesday Morning

Today, you fall softly
On the multi-colored play mat.
You then gently push the guitar’s funny shadow
While your cousins dance erratically with the curtains

You let me read the pages
Of the author wanting to die in Paris on a rainy Thursday
I fight off a yawn
But you weigh tons on my eye lids.

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Proposal at the Moonlit Park

No being on this soil discerns my soul
Besides the one whose visage fits, now rests
Sashaying on my palms. She sees my roles
And highlights my distinctions during tests

This possibility is close to nil
But she is here, her skin is next to mine
This blank austerity restocked with fill
As perfect dance to one’s desired line

My words are whispered and the twine is claimed
My silent prayers, in her, have found amen
I‘m not a stallion but I think I’m tamed
The fishing’s done, the reckoning is ten

This rock entreats consent for ceaseless bliss
Why on earth do I need knees to do this?

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Calendar Night

This
Long hour
Of waiting
Is like that morn
When I drank thirteen
Cups of Arabica

I cling to this frail blanket
Frantically trying to abstain
From rays or forms of incandescence
I shut my mind off as if it’s a switch
But his convolutedness is Juggernaut
So once again I turn, churn, and curse in my bed

I now find myself groping for words to fill a month
I think this is how long it’ll take my darkness and I
To catch up like friends who drifted apart since graduation
Now I can hear three clocks simultaneously ticking in my ears
And the sound of the freezer is enough to turn my soda stone-cold
As thousands of little feet are hazing the ceiling into a playground

[...] Read more

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