St George, In Transit

In streets, pyrotechnic love
is spat out, Dragon-barked, not Long,
latched to the jeepney’s roof
like some necessity.
Boom badoom boom boom badoom boom barked
as One Direction,
“Sasa, Panacan, Tibungco, love.”
It is Super Basilisk, lithefying
Ennui to sing Tomorrow, Tomorrow

And yet on this jeepney, it is always a day away.
Bieber, outcast of the Republic, declared “Baby” thrice removed (Oh!),
asking Ennui frankly if she beliebed in liebe after Lebe
like it were some impossibility.
Katty Perry, too, must have heard it,
the ebbing and flowing of Russell’s ecstasy.

Ah, this jeepney,  love-hearse, is Uso-usoing over life.
and barker spits out “love” like  “Lanang,” unhearted, aheading.
Super Basilisk’s gorgon-glare is fast-fossiling, arresting development,
and the beating of the drum (“that’s coming your way”), at best
the kubyertic cacophony of young people swallowing the Sun.
(Turn around!)

And Dragon-bark has not the clarity of Long
because too prolonged,
a sky-flower pretending to take root
here, where love is as good as  illegal.
(Do they chew love letters in Talomo too?)

Because here there are no strawberries.
Kushiinada is obscure, and even Ssimcheon
And her undersea pathos are unmarketable,
here where mermaids cannot upstage Charice in singing (each to each),
where the Tetragrammaton remains unspelled.

“God (is love)-glory,” this enemy, is the hideous head of the Beast
of the (“Absolute Destiny”) Apocalypse.

And so, tapping the handrail with Rizal’s profile
(Also neglected nickel legacy of martyred love!)
I alight the jeepney unto Where Life Is
to Take my Revolution,
to stop the world’s lost turning,
and to report the illegal spitting
of empty fireworks.


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