The clock strikes twelve,
The pendulum swings,Presaging history's dullness.
Now playing the apothecary's phonograph:
A prescription post the countless confessions,
Coating anew the scars of the soul.
As an opium is for empty dreams,
A sedative towards a tearless sleep.
With the void of a starless sky ---
Spouseless Cassiopeia.
Under the full moon,
Too bright for a lullaby.
So unlike and unalive:
The pigments I trace on your skin.
The pointy nose wedged into my hollows.
The hairy limbs which keep us warm.
Your heartbeat from my breasts.
Thanatos unheeded by Hades:
A chronic painful numbness.
A prolonged lonesome company.
So much for the reality of time.
Guiuan, Eastern Samar
21 October 2015
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