IN MEMORIAM 

all the poems
i have ever laid
at your feet
are no more
trashed
burnt
deleted
yesterday
yesterday i brought my bed out
squeezed and dragged
through small doors
so i could sleep
on the hard floor
this is a study in tolerance
what i do not want
anymore let it go
put it out

there is a holiness
in this purging

there is an art
in destroying.

 

SLOW BURN 

something hazy in this morning light
confused in the rise of grey tones
is it a yellow dawn?
the quiet quiet slow
heat burning like acid on my guts
i need a gentle beloved slap
of black coffee bitter on my mouth
wash down the remains
of the words i keep twisted
at the back of my tongue
at the pit of my stomach

good morning
good morning
i am seasick and sailing
i stare at the stained ceilings
wondering about all the oceans
that ever passed through them
and a thought that keeps repeating:
i do think i’ve lost you before
i do think i’ve lost you before
i do think i’ve lost you before

it tasted more of a testament
than an unanswered question.

 

FLOOR TO CEILING 

i wish to lie on tiled floors
remove my glasses
stare at ceilings
in hopes of drawing
constellations
marvel at your galaxy
your creations.

i want to see clearly
in blurred visions
on cold floors
to exist and be just me
without norms
imagining
you.

i do.
i do.

 

TRIBUTARIES 

call me out!
call me in!

the river:
bones quiver
skeleton earthquakes
heart epicenters
endless blue
endless blue
unforgiving
i find you
i find you lurking
beneath all steady stream
a quest i wish to battle
a love like water
this liquid fire
shapes, sears clean
i dance
i dance barefoot
skin to stones
leave all sediment
allow all murk make
crystals from coals
after all
through grace
on its own
sediment settles
in its own specific place
i feel
i feel your presence
i will chase
to the ends of the earth
engrave in my skin
your blood on wood planks
carve out from flesh
this fear i feel within
so shape, sear clean
beneath all steady stream
your raging river
your liquid fire
i dance
i dance barefoot

call me out!
call me in!

your river:
i am rooted
i am rooted in
your water.

 

OLD GHOSTS 

the rusty rhythms
inside your chest
are buildings collapsing
and you can’t escape your own skin
each step shatters bones
as if you carry galaxies on your own
cauterized wounds
feel like the rot is still there
the absence
lingers
just like a presence
memories laid bare
walking on creaking floors
knocking on open doors
and the must and musk
of these spectres
pull the air out of your lungs
like acid through leaking pipes
tell me, will it be alright
to feel lonely?
because you see,
always, you just came close
and your love for your old ghosts
lives on from skylines to coasts
the presence of absences
how you love them the most
this is how you love
this is why you’re lost.


JANYN P. BERAME is a twenty-something poet/photographer/producer based in Manila, Philippines.