“Invitation to a Beheading”

“Your poems” she texts, “are depressing.

Sometimes I don’t want to surf your blog

anymore. I feel like I’m being slapped

into asking what’ll I do with the rest

 of my life. Worse, how should the future be.”

The admission is real, sad & terrifying

for a young woman to grapple with demons

the future offers her as lover, mistress,

hausfrau, career executive,

even activist on the forefront of a silent war

that has festered & preyed on innocents

since time danced with the rhythm of the

colonial world.

But how should he see it?

Blood flows everywhere,

una furtiva lagrima

is a trail of dried salt water

on her cheeks,

people live & die like dogs

& animals get slaughtered

by mindless churchgoers

who pray to God for mercy & daily bread.

Things are tough to call

& Cagliostro lurks in the dimples

of every smile of a child-

the heart squirms with hurt

as it laughs.

He sees the glass half-empty-

The fullness escapes him like the air

that whips his eyes.

Everything is of color blue.

Rousseau rules this side of the pacific.

But a blank screen

is not comforting either.

If only militias, Marcos clones,

& American diplomats wouldn’t block

his words

from sounding so musically,

so vibrantly.

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