Nocturne at the Seat of this Millennium
In Davao I used to do it personally. Just to show to the guys [police officers] that if I can do it, why can’t you.
that if I can do it, why can’t you.
Even if he is wingless — a lesser god,
a look or a flash of anger, a wrong touch
as he passes — perhaps leaning out
to bump a shoulder to summon an eruption,
so that the monster rises because he loves it,
that shadow in the alley, that bad confession,
even though he remembers how easy it is
to cross his thumb under the handle of his knife
and look at the dulling eye the way
the dull-whiskered carp pressed its lips
to the air as the blade slit from the anus
to the edge of the jaw — so easy to slice
the fish, its tail circling slightly, quaking
with awareness and the last look, even that look
he has grown to know, that look beyond the stars
which have long ceased to be, even then
it is never enough to fill the moment because
there are always more moments and so many
stars and the hard, black sea that says nothing
but yes, even that sea has long lost its place.
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