Tao Ang Nasa Traffic

the lines before home are too long. 

my watch stays unbroken, peels 

each metal inch 

into mindless stretches. 

the horizons have their silence 

the way I would 

have: lazily kept 

in shoeboxes hiding 

under dusty narra.

later my hands will wave off the beeps 

of a nearing jeepney, later grab what loose 

change remains in my pocket, later 

reach for help, later see 

a struggling movement 

of clenched fists; only 

common coins as fuel.

intramuros, hours ago

was a coastline of marooning

daydreams—ashore

the moment I let it go. 

“Humawak ka sa bakal” 

the words start to line my stomach 

like barbed wire. and in there

I have yet to believe, 

the thought escaping, out there, 

always, but never not soon.