Show me your skirt of rocks and ice,
Hemmed with glowing dust and glass,
As you career through space in an
Endless circle, your path encumbered
Only by an unfortunate planet or moon,
Light up my pitch-black night with
Your cold fire, draw a smoldering line
Across the other stars, erase them as
I would my memory, pierce the sky
Like a sword descending on flesh,
Rouse the birds into frantic flight,
Raze the treetops as you fly along,
Part the oceans like the hand of God,
Crash into my earthen face, release
Tons of choking dirt and smoke,
Bury me in darkness. Obliterate me.
A flower, growing in sand:
The rose, petals supple leather,
Dark red like menstrual blood,
Reeking like overripe fruit,
Budding lopsidedly towards
A sky littered with dead stars.
A fish, walking on grass:
The carp, scales shiny like glass,
Pale green like runny phlegm,
Redolent like night jasmines,
Skipping lightly towards
A forest of charred fruit trees.
A smile, rising out of misery:
The man, face bright as a bulb,
Pallid like communion wafers
Dipped in stale white wine,
Hurtling helplessly towards
A life of deep meaninglessness.
Floating along this stream,
Its clear face quivering like shook
Glass above my dead eyes,
Leaves forming a brown-gold halo
Around my mangled head,
My pale fingers lightly touch
The silt beneath, stirring up life
With such feathery grace
I am almost tempted to swim
If only my legs were not useless
Logs protruding from my torso
Of saplings and dried twigs.
The cold water numbs me further,
Buries my memory to dark depths,
Dulls all pain to a soothing hum,
Leaving nothing but this desire
To float like this, forever, towards
Where waters run bitter and sweet.
M. Protacio-De Guzman is from Manila, Philippines. His poems and stories have appeared in local and international magazines and anthologies, most recently in Off the Rocks Volume 19 by New Town Writers Press. His gay-themed stories for children have been awarded in his home country. After years of raising dogs, he has recently become a cat person.