ILL LOCUS 2

(my apology to edilberto m. guerrero and alejandrino hufana)


Prouder yet than the prose
That pen can pick:
Thicker than the tips
That tape the news:
Cram cupboard or cabinet-
The Leaf lifts the idyll and idle
The Foreign too-
To the boom of brands: but
Push in the salted shells
From TNC’s octopic wells-
Wavelets lap and tap-tap:
Currimao: Destination, locus
Lap. Lap. Diriki: Destination, Focus
Push in and no push out
While laugh loud the giants
From their aerobic heights
Conceal weirder words, weaving
Waves into wafers. The phoneme
Of the fame from fare
Slacks the babe from the skirt; this re-
Capture soon yields a zone
Too far removed from Sionil’s Poon
Midhand on the still salient soil
Test tender teeth vs. steel stabs
Grind the grogginess, machines &
Masks. To the rhyme of falling red
Risks. To the chord of chrismal carts
Lap. Lap. Wavelets mist fully count
August arts. But stones and bones
Pawns and crowns on limestone checkerboard compute
Steadily the projects’ praise and price
While mortals melt still their meets
Pour their power – douse or dust
Still elders task the captioning of stars
To their own sanguinely marts.