Monday, May 4, 2015

(English) Maybe

---by Dennis Carlo Premacio---
maybe it was love;
or maybe it was because
i ate six chicken drumsticks bathed
in high-fat cooking oil
that my heart started
acting like
shit.

maybe it was love;
or maybe my left atrium
got tired and
skipped a 
beat.

maybe it was love;
or maybe I love
the idea of
it.

maybe it was love
just like the day I saw your Chinese eyes
and olive-scented hair
and that serial smile
and turquoise fingernails.

maybe it was love.
maybe it is.
or maybe.

(English) Murder

---by Dennis Carlo Premacio---
throat slit;
blood on his three-year old portrait,
lions dancing
and ducks upfront the door.
he swayed to the curlicues of jazz
with the knife on his pretty hand
spitting blood
on that sofa and remembered
the girl he screwed by behind
and slit her throat
to the curlicues of jazz.
damn the woman.
damn her feelings.
damn his apathy.
jesus he was crazy.
the good kind of crazy
which dances to the mania
of pure
fun.
it was fun.
he was guiltless.
blood spurted.
blood got out.
blood got spilled.
he was dancing.
damn, he was dancing
to the curlicues of jazz.
damnable woman's right eye
staring at him.
he shieked,
and laughed
and got near,
poked the eye
and ate
it.
it was fun;
didn't taste
good
but it was
fun.
Gloomy Sunday
wailing like a bitch
on her vintage radio.
Fuck off, he thought.
FUCK OFF!
melody curved like shit
and he was terrified.
not with the blood
nor the hollowed eye
nor the chickenshit face
nor the malfunctioning kidney.
but the song
menaced him,
tearing his skin
from the inside.
FUCK OFF!
Gloomy Sunday,
Hungarian suicide.
Ah, he thought,
you ain't getting me
you fuck,
you ain't getting me.
he went near the woman
and poked her belly
with the
knife.
poked her slow
then slow and hard
then fast
and hard
and fast, fast, fast
and poked crazy.
Jesus!
God wailing on the corner.
it felt like cotton,
the belly
and the insides
popping out of her.
it was dark red
and blue and green
then all mixed like
rainbows.
Rainbows!
it was good.
it was fun.
it was glorious.
no more Gloomy Sunday on radio.
no more wailing bitch.
just him laughing on the floor
with the malfunctioning kidney.
TV set flashing
Marilyn Monroe.
Marilyn isn't there, he said.
She's over here, you fucks.
Right here, he said,
and poked her belly,
watching M. Monroe
on that damned box.
the curlicues of jazz went on.
he stood up
and danced, danced, danced.
knife on his pretty hand,
he danced, danced, danced.
God wailing on the corner,
Marilyn on her couch,
lions dancing
and ducks at the door.
He danced,
and danced,
and slipped.
He slipped on blood.
Falling short,
knife spinning on his head.
Falling slowly,
spinning.
He laughed
and cried
and did both.
Knife spinning on his head.
Falling slowly, spinning,
sheeeek!
buried between the eyebrows.
the curlicues of jazz went on.
sun hit the sack
and the sirens wailed.

Katong babaye nga kolor turquoise ang kuko

---ni Dennis Carlo Premacio---
Mura bitaw ko’g nagdamgo
atong adlawa nga padung ko’s Parkmall;
late na sa klase og kulang sa katulog
nga mura’g na-hangover bisa’g dili hubog.
Pakyasa, sige’g untol-untol ang jeep
nga mura’g nanugsog nga dili ko pakatulgon;
bisa’g gamay’ng idlip man lang
sa dili pa ko mopakanaug sa terminal.
Sa sige’g untol-untol didto nako nabantayan
ang akong tupad nga babayeng Josenian
nga nagbasa ug libro sa Accounting
taliwas sa untol-untol sa jeep nga padung sa Parkmall.
Akong nabantayan nga singkit iyang mga mata
og puwa iyang ngabil,
og hipos iyang buhok,
og kolor turquoise iyang kuko.
Akong nabantayan iyang mga kamot
ug didto nawala tanan nakong kakapoy
nga mura ba’g gisabwagan ko’g tubig
niining babaye nga kolor turquoise ang kuko.
Ambot, bai, dili nako ma-explain
ang pamati human nako makit-an iyang mga kamot.
Ang nagsige ug dagan sa akong huna-huna niadtong panahona
mao nga “Shit, ganahan ko makig-shake hands!”
Naabot na mi sa terminal
ug nibalhin sa 01K nga jeep padulong sa Colon.
Hastang swertia, tupad gihapon mi
apan nagsige gihapon siya’g duko sa iyang libro.
Mura ko’g amaw nga nagsige ug tutok niya
nga hasta akong atbang nga laki lahi na’g tinan-awan nako.
Kasultion ko nga “Bai, let me be, I think I’m in love,”
pero, atay, corny man paminawon.
Wala na kaayo’y untol-untol sa may SM
pero naglabi ang kalit nga paghunong sa jeep
kay animal kapaspas ang dagan ni noy driver
maong magsige ug sikit among mga bukton.
Ampay! Ampay sa kagwang!
Ampay nga bisan sa gamay’ng kawat sa oras
nagkasikit among mga bukton
nga sa kapilit nagsige ko’g hunghong nga
“Noy Driver, pakusog lang!
Hunong ug kalit kada five seconds!”
Apan na-trapik mi’s M.J. Cuenco
maong wala na’y pilit-pilit sa bukton.
Nagsige gihapon ko ug tutok niya
kauban sa akong mga tingsi ug kawat nga tan-aw sa iyang kamot.
Nagsige gihapon ko ug tutok niya
apan didto ra jud ‘tawon ko kutob.
Ganahan unta ko makahibawo sa iyang pangalan;
bisan sa iyang pangalan man lang unta.
Ganahan unta ko makigstorya
apan napildi ko sa kahadlok—
sa kahadlok nga basin, basin
naa na diay siya’y uyab;
o basin, basin
lahi iyang pagtan-aw kanako.
Napildi ko sa kahadlok, bai.
Nagpapildi ko sa mga ‘basin’.
Nagpadayon lamang ko sa pagtutok,
sa pagdawat nga didto ra jud ko kutob.
Naabot na mi’s eskina Gilmore
ug una kong ninaug.
Gihuwat nako siya nga makalabang,
gisulit ang katapusang tutok.
Nasidlakan sa kahayag sa adlaw iyang nawong
ug didto ko nalanay—
nalanay nga mura’g Toblerone
nga gipasagdan.
Anghel ni siya nga kolor turquoise ang kuko!
Anghel nga singkit ang mata!
Mintras ako nalanay siya mipadayon ug lakaw
og ako kasinggiton nga “Miss, unya ra!”
Pakyasa, kakita ba kaha ‘to siya nako?
O wala lang siya kabantay kay sige siya’g duko?
Pakyasa, magkakita pa kaha mi’g balik?
O nanugsog lang ang kapalaran?
Pakyasa, bai, pakyasa.

Pakyasa, bai, pakyasa.