Wednesday, July 2, 2008

My Kind

MY KIND


I have no oven large enough,
Dear Sylvia, to roast
my head like a lamb for dinner.



Nor a brand-new car parked
in a garage, Dear Anne,
to etherize my soul.



Nor stones heavy with sin,
Dear Virginia, and a river deep
as forgetting to drown myself in.



Nor do I live in a building,
so high like the bluest
of skies, Dearest Maningning.



Sisters in rhyme, in crime,
how then shall I make my quick
and extraordinary exit?



Or shall I kill myself slowly
with beer and cigarettes,
bit by bit?

3 comments:

waltzang said...

bokot!

Anonymous said...

Ang ganda sir!

Nina said...

this is really charming. short pieces but laden with meaning. even if u were talking about how these literary greats killed themselves, it came across as almost humorous.

i'm becoming a fan. :) i liked ariel too.