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Thursday, September 07, 2006

the day i lost to shadows

you were forgotten
for a day i lost your name
among the shallow torments
of my wandering mind

it must have been fate
who opted to shroud you
in some distant corner
obscured from my sight

today chance reminded me
of what i've overlooked
i unveiled my transgression
yesterday is always too late

08.30.2006.5:43.p.m.

un poème pour deux chats

pour un chat de Cheshire:

    i wish you were either here
            or gone
    not e  v  e  r  y  w  h  e  r  e
    lurking
            in the space of my thoughts
    all the while existing nowhere
        not next door
        not downstairs
    departed, your grin remains

pour le chat de Schrödinger:

    i wish you were either alive
            or dead
    not conscious
    establishing yourself
            in my pith
    all the while dispersing
        into memories
        into the void
    unopened, the box remains


           /\    /            0   0
           ____
        >(____)<        /\    /                               u   u
                             > ___ <

Monday, February 06, 2006

stampede

this is in memory of all the people who lost and risked their lives last saturday morning for a chance of "winning" a better life from a local game show. Read more here

they risked their souls
for a few pieces of silver,
and dreams wrapped in paper.
they thought it was free,
a chance in a million,
like aiming for the moon.
but they paid in full,
in blood and broken bones
waking up in a world
bleaker than the night before.
their lives lay stranded
on littered concrete floors.

ndg.02.06.2006.4.09.p.m.

Friday, February 03, 2006

indoors

we laugh indoors
and they never understand
the jests that echo through the walls
sliding down window panes
running wet on carpet floors

we laugh indoors
but nobody ever hears

we walk outside and weep
then everybody stops to listen


ndg.01.31.2006.1.52.p.m.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Your Kind Of Water

what kind of rain
are you?
she asked me in
a time long forgotten,
in the academy of clouds.
her voice
was rolling thunder,
both soothing and
deliciously loud.

well i am a mere
drizzle to your storm,
i answered,
i couldn't
afford my own puddle,
i am unnoticed
in crowded days on
wet season boulevard,
and i always stay
inclouds
anyway.

and her laughter
was startling, got all
kind of people
jumping,
in the world
underneath us.

it must be nice to be
like that. she said. she smiled.
her translucent wind
tangled with my breeze,
and i knew bliss
in a way no rain
has ever
felt before.

she went her way,
thought i felt
a lightning spark
from her cloud as grey
as a fading night
caress me,
for a moment
ere it was
gone.

and her laughter
was echoing, in my
little cloud,
merely
a breath to her storm.

so what kind of rain
is she,
should someone
ask me;
she is the kind that
rains all day,
in every place where
you ever
blew.


12162005

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

mental block

dutifully the night hides your ghost
behind a bed of wistful stars
i gaze and find no traces of your blood
as if you never existed
beyond the madness of my closed eyes

its a conspiracy, i know,
between you and the seven skies
this hide and seek and tale tell lies
i let them wade unnoticed
dspite these gray stains on my hand

i thought i was done breaking you
on a new poem's coarse lines
but still you stalk me, a willing prey
wanting none of these vague words
trying hard to make a rhyme

trying hard to make me rhyme.

ndg.12.20.2005.7.37.p.m.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Tripping On Constellations

tripping on constellations

the weather seldom matches her heart,
in her upside-down world.

she walks on fallen skies littered
with half-buried stars,
and almost trips on Vela,
while the tide lashes its salted tongues
in mock laughter, umvewihillion miles
above her head.

the moon has just gone, drowned
into the vaporous ground before her,
sunken and acting Atlantis to little things
scurrying over this ground-sky.

she ignores them, and proceeds
to brush off stardust from her plain
white nightgown, and waits for the sun.

but the sunrise is again, without
a grand entrance,
a disappointment...
a dead fish floating to the surface.

always inedible.


gelaco/12132005