There is a lupine quality to the way I love the full moon. My love for the full moon is lupine. I might be a werewolf.

— Sam L. Marcelo (@samlmarcelo) March 18, 2014

Stranded in a sea of bleeding brake lights, the weary seek comfort in the long night's moon.

— Sam L. Marcelo (@samlmarcelo) December 18, 2013

Sheep-like clouds grazing on blue sky. Butterflies playing a game of tag. A pale pink flower dancing on a concrete driveway. Today is good.

— Sam L. Marcelo (@llmarcelo) August 29, 2013

A procession of tears. Cinereous skies. Who do the angels mourn for?

— Sam L. Marcelo (@llmarcelo) August 21, 2013

The moon is gravid, succulent. A low-hanging fulvous fruit I want to pick from the sky with my lips.

— Sam L. Marcelo (@llmarcelo) June 25, 2013

PMS turns me into that dude in American Beauty

I saw a flock of birds swooping through the air,
a pair of balloons pirouetting in a pas de deux.

I cried.
Then stopped.

Comforted when I heard the wind combing through its lover's hair.

After Art's Fragmented Memory

[VII2311]

Dead bird, bare tree.
Skull, ashtray, and gun to head.
White flower, wooden chair.
Empty landscape, color-bled.

6:40 P.M.

[14VII11]

The late afternoon moon is a faded mark
on an already faded watercolor sky

Punta Fuego vs. Tropical Storm Falcon

[24VI11]

I have heard the world speak.
Its voice is the bellowing of the waves.

Ferrous moon

[V11]

Who shot at god and left heaven
bleeding from a rust-colored bullet hole?

My eyes aren't on the road when I'm driving

[V11]

A sky split open by lightning
Unleashes the warm wetness of a nimbus cry
And sends bone-feather birds fleeing into
Grey umbrella-trees for the night

[02V11]

Cells slowed by summer.
Sluggish.
Sedated.
Somnolent.

Sagging flesh, smelling of sweat, stinking in the sun.

Draft

[IV012011]

This is an all-white page, blank and waiting for me and for my words. The cursor blinks. A wavy, green line informs me that my second sentence is ungrammatical. I move back, erase the period after “page,” insert a comma, and change the “B” in “Blank” to “b.” Microsoft Word no longer thinks I am violating the rules of language.

Tweets that belong here

The moon is Willendorfian tonight. Weighed down and made huge by yellow light.

___

Heat speeds up molecules. Why then the lethargy of summer, slow-motion sweat, and the temptation to remain immobile in bed?

a thought while driving towards dusk

[24X10]
let me burn in the afternoon fire of the saffron sky beyond billboards and electrical wire.

hands

[14X10]

the hand on my thigh is different from
the hand on her head is different from
the hand on my lips is the same as
the hand on her lips is different from
the hand on my heart is the same as
the hand at her side

it rained in boracay

[18VII10]

the ocean slicks over the
backs of unseen beasts

an invisible horde
returning to shore

driven by stippling rain
and roaring thunder

38 degrees

[06V10]
we congregate on the streets,
trying to escape from sheets
drenched in sweat and dreams

shirtless beggars
whistling for a breeze

last night, it almost rained

[29IV10]

you were so close,
i could smell you.

but you never came.

old ideas

cruel beauty
[01IV10]

the desert loathes not the barrenness that defines it nor does it pity its self-inflicted solitude.

but cruel beauty dreams, sometimes, on its bed of sand roses, of a fecundity that shatters the diamond-sharp silence blowing over its dunes.

like a nubian queen, it drinks from an oasis
whose illusory abundance soon grows tiring.

and so the desert wakes with sated lips dry and cracked, embracing its own arrogance like a lover.
___

somnolent seas
[01IV10]

i want to see you when your somnolent seas
are roused by the habagat wind,
and roiling thunderclouds hide a sand-scratched sun

enough of your placid submission,
give me your undisonant violence at its loudest
then let me have the pleasure of taming your tempest