General Torpor in Physics Recitation

The only colliding particles we see today

are the yellow ones that fly

from the filing of your chalk piece -

The room is hazed with them.

They enter our ears

and clog our cochleas,

muffling the monotony of your lesson.

Stains form on our skin

and drain our facial glow,

replacing it with a jaundiced tint -

We want to recover

But our bodies can't accept anything

save for the soporific tone of your questions.

That's why you hear

a deep-breathing drone

from the back of the room

cascading now

to the front row:

We're answering you

in our REM sleep -

please don't

ignore our silent

somniloquies.

Severance

When our hands locked,

even the ridges and grooves

of our fingerprints

would complement each other -

whorls of mine would anchor

to loops of yours and bring our

life lines so close together that

they'd forget which palm they belonged to.

When our gazes touched,

the lids of our eyes

would save us -

soft skin would form a shingled roof

shielding us from life's hails and bolts

and soon we would be surrounded

by walls of sod and silk

that (somehow) nothing could penetrate.

When our smiles spoke,

the lines on our lips

would murmur riddles

without answers -

riddles like, "what can topple the very thing that

an earthquake cannot shake?"

or "what can burn like lava

and leave no blistering trace?"

I think I know the answers now,

as I watch you pack your bags,

and sling on your rifle

over your camouflage uniform.

I think you know the answers too

as you see my hands tremble

while I try to wipe the dust

off your combat training boots.

Forecast

The sky was trying really hard to smile when noon hit. Its pearly blue shine and wispy white blush almost convinced me of its contentment. I took off my headphones in hopes of hearing a hearty laugh. But instead I heard a sniffle. I turned off my ipod. The sniffling slowly but surely turned into gulping. The kind of gulping that hurts your throat and spreads a burning discomfort to the thickest of arteries. The kind of gulping that you can't stop once you start, and each time you gulp the fire just expands its territory. I looked up. The sky was trembling. Soon it drained its color and stopped clenching whatever it was that gave it that desperate hue of feigned revel. It tried its best to line its weary eyes with solar kohl. But before I knew it, a surge of shimmer streamed alongside my boots. I looked up again. The sky wouldn't stop. It was breaking down. It was breaking down light and sound. All I could do was look up. I was much too far from it to console it, and much to small for it to feel my hand on its shoulder. My neck started to hurt from looking up so much. I looked around and found more faces. My eyes froze when I felt the lachrymose wind that had caused it all – it was unnaturally icy, sucking the warmth out of every countenance that put up a fight. I looked down at my boots and kept walking.

Broken Synchrony

Enraptured, hearts beat

one-and-two-and-one-and-

two people incessantly

captured, frame after frame

by strobe lights, splitting

seconds, emitting

cartoons of real humans.

Each successive shot

each obsessive swing

of slick hair and hip

make her feet glide

front step back step turn

step across the floor

and collide with his

until his hand is

clutching her side

and his fingers lock

with hers, and for

a second they're breathing

the same sticky air.

His start-up smiles, his

charming lines and

screamy what's-your-name?

and where-you-from?

conversations don't hint

any trepidation -

she even thinks maybe

this guy has a bit of

class in his moves

on the liquor-shined tiles,

but the move he makes next

is a different style:

a bit of force on the small

of her back he presses

and messes

up her rhythm,

making them face-to-

resisting-face so she says

the usual “no-please

-just-dancing” line once then

twice waiting for his eyes

to stop looking so

strangely enticed.

She shakes her head

tries to loosen the arm he's

got clamped tight

around her waist but

dammit he moves closer and

closer because right now he

thinks that he knows her

but I'd like to make a bet

that he only knows

her silhouette.

Snowflakes and a Power Outage

The dark night

was a white sky

amplified

by muted thunder.

Now and then

a flash of luminol blue

shocked the blackness

of the living room.

Still, blinkless eyes

stayed hypnotized

by the ivory dust

that fell from indiscernible clouds.

The shavings landed, peculiarly,

as textured liquid

and hardened as glossy ceramic

atop cold, wooden arms.

The limbs never flinched

but hypothermia

revived their grace

even as they grew numbly stiff.

Maybe it was the stillness

under the netted drape of motion

that polished the strips of bark

and adumbrated the radiance of their form.

Or maybe, they were just beautiful,

and beautiful all along.

Vestiges

Hate

I do

the residue

of love

lost.

Stuck tight

leech-like

not on fresh wounds, but

scar tissue.

Or clung on

(grime of past time)

to a single facet

(recalcitrant)

clouding up

the strange shine

of a blue

but clear

crystal of truth.

Hate you

I do

lost love

your

residue.

The Legitimate Late Paper

I’m running fast in my flip flops

Down the sidewalk

My ears are blocking out the sound

Of all the raindrops -

The drums are beating, instead

Tick tock, tick tock,

Synchronized with mental metronomes:

My multiple alarm clocks.

I’m reaching the line of the dead

My limbs are zombie as I approach

Facts swirl in my head

My eyes are glossy with reproach

No sleep, no food, but my heart still pounds

And even more pressure mounts

As I trudge up this hill,

Commanding my emotions to please! sit still.

But

Suddenly, my pace of haste

Digs its heels in the ground,

The fiery friction beneath my feet

Slows me to a halt-

Suddenly, I'm witness

To a beautiful assault:

Rays searing raindrops

With the sharpest blade of radiance

Making them bleed Roy G Biv

Drip drop, drip drop

On this monotone body cadence -

Pores of my sleepless skin

Wake with revived color

This absorption is a win

Though tardiness is marked as sin

Even the leaflets that I grasp

Are pleased at my lively clasp

And my lungs praise the breaths I take

Cooling my heart's stressed shake.

Then I break my usual tense stride

And walk calmly, with peculiar pride -

It is twenty minutes past four

But it doesn't matter anymore

Because I just got to delve

Into a phenomenon I adore.