Cancion à la Gamalinda
Louise Vincent B. Amante
For luck of good, some forgotten garden picked up long ago a stone, from my two quasars of fingertips, I leave for lights with praise and dribbling corridos. I'll send my lovers' eyes to the dream machine. I love ya, the wound that gleams in the sweet raw dreams. The angels walk past their dreams into the machine. So pack your dream and step into the bags. The hole becomes my world more and more in my soul. Their invisible things, the counter-halves in their whiteness I want to believe. Too much to ask for? I long for the unreal so much, I want to be unreal so much in quotes and myths This city crushes with its clouds of afterselves and we become like drowning steam Let's get to the straight point Can't be the dream machine but I'll give you something more I'll send you to your lover Walk past the dreams into their angels So pack your machine and step into the doom bags that much I can tell ya slashing our silences and intimacies through the river and our uncertain lives and the rest of November dying, out there that is not their own world in the gaggle of junkies and the whole darkness of the damn Rilke and Morrison, The only truth is I love this darkness.
23 June 2017
Quezon City, Philippines
Adapted from:
Gamalinda, Eric. "Cancion Moderna," from Lyrics from a Dead Language. Pasig City: Anvil Publishing, Inc., 1991. p 93.
No comments:
Post a Comment