found poem #12

but who can stop you

if you wish to try again

i wish words can weave the world

there are children

and dreams, ambitions for the blind

always neglected and unattended

we can always pretend to fall asleep

in this place of sadness and sorrow

i was still a child-dreamer

talking about god and foreign films

so high and proud

and I'm right here,

in your warm hugs and kisses

and i wish for nothing

deliverance

the man shot himself

in the bathroom on the third floor

everyone in the house are so busy

talking on the phone

red bubbles of filth

dripping from the dark hole

under his chin, spilling over

the edge of the plastic tub

everyone in the house are still busy

talking on the phone

dialing and cursing, head bowed

in prayers hoping for god himself

to pick up and deliver

his guidance to those who are

still busy screaming and shouting

begging for another story

in their short restless sleep

every frame a painting

every line is poetry.

every day is a good day to start

it all over again, their hearts

beat heavier day by day

in the middle of a pursuit

for perfection, suddenly

everyone is wishing for a gun

he holds it tight, that night

he is Isaac, he is Ishmael

inside the flesh of Abraham

worshiping nothing but death

the man shot himself

the bullet pierce through his skull

straight to the blood sprayed ceiling

a black sun in the red sky

his neck slumped over

the edge of the plastic tub

everyone in the house are too busy

talking on the phone