Moving/Found: The Fellows of 2007 Dumaguete National Writers Workshop

A laugh amid black garbage bags.The audience thought the program had gone crazier.

Hat-tips / Curtsies. Paging Martin Villanueva! Paging Martin Villanueva! Where are the prints and prints of that summer? Introducing, the un-declamation by the Minotaurs:

THIS IS NOT A POEM The riffs of the man at the station: Of all the people she had to sit next to, It had to be a freak. “Thought you might need a wizard,” he said. “Kever! You’re a loser,” she said. Blessed is the bird, a dead poetess’ song. It’s odd: I speaks to the clouds and rivers Like a half-used whore, naked, almost young Another go-round in the air, sweeping over.I am the bete noire: the pulchritude, ephemeral; Extirpate this unwashed brain! I was born in parts--- my legs fell in front Of me: a girl with a pink smile. I’ll shoot you, you fool! Nananananana…PATAY! And they all agreed it was good Television when men stroke Water with hands and feet. You black suit, black shoes, Black looks woman. Thank God I didn’t think Of studying in Russian. Kever! He is prey in the middle of an orgasm; Float like a dandelion, I am air: (Real editorials are made on the street. Real editorial are made on the street. Real editorials are made on the street.) Know this love, you will never be rid of me. Joy-Joy Juice, Joy-Joy-Shake (Shake it baby!) with your purple---Penitensiya--- Venus is dead! Happiness is a warm gun…Pointless narrow-minded elitist crap. P.S. Five minutes later: A perky rack with a hardened Lick of heaven--- seamless erotica as punctuation. How dare you put decaf in my red mug? (You put a whore in a whorehouse, How many moves have you got?) How must I love everything Tunneling into the deep? It’s not just done. Who’s the charlatan? I am a virgin, I am free, I don’t Comply with patriarchy. Everyone else was happy--- And that’s the Minotaur! Queen Mother’s dicklit of the prodigal son Of the gutters: the royal eye-roll. (My brother pees On your Money Tree.) A spasm then a quiver: “Voyadores! Voyadores! Viva La Virgen!” It’s raining inside you. He’s the hippo in the rain. But break-up, grudge, comfort, mercy, closure, free--- It’s ALL GOOD… In the space allotted for birds. Always portents who stepped on a cloud: Stella the goat, vague as a veil. The hole in the wall, chunk Of belly, blood, What looked like a tail. Poor lover of the trivial; Finally, it becomes a thing that was A key but prefers to break down doors. Who will forgive the survivor?

Fucking A Fellows:

Who the fuck is still paying the price of surviving?