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the best thing about leaving

is the reading
which I have forgotten
in weeks

or poetry writing
in your house
at the garage
where the cats sleep

or at the red sofa
that sinks

or perhaps, at the garden
ah, yes! the garden
where we hear
the words your house


* i have never written a poem after the "trees" attempt i did when i was in grade 3, so please bear with me this time. i've been running out of words for quite a time, but i promise (yes, this time it's for real) that i'll intubate myself, get these stuck words outta my throat, pin them down on a piece of paper and bring them back to life.

for Larry, who made me realize how tragic it is to see books inside a store unnoticed or unread, and for Franz, who has written quite a number of poems for me in two months.

@ 10:14 PM |

This blog has been named after Tito Alquizola's essay, Talking to Myself | Artwork inspired by AnneJulie
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