by Abner Dormiendo
The night always speaks in code, always a different language
every time I listen: one night, binary. The other, Morse.
I’m fluent in neither, but I know enough about empathy
to know that the night means to say something.
Attention is response to intentionality. Strain your ears
enough, press one gently against the wall and you will hear it:
this constant thrum, a galactic note steady sounding
like a piano key pressed firmly, long enough to sustain
an echo. Perhaps once it might have been trill, pitch
clear as glass. Then indeterminacy: the attempt on words
as a way to contain entropy. Language replaced a sacred affair
between the body and the noise. Here we are, writing
like it was necessary. Look here. A dog shouts profanities
to a shadow on the wall. A vehicle demonstrates
sound as wave, passes in front with a resonating hum,
increasing in volume, then dissolving in distance.
A man slurs out an inebriated diction to an imaginary
enemy, challenges him to a fight. I watch with such veracity
the possibility of battle. The wind took up the call,
a silent brush against the man, and then silence.
Day 6: Look outside the window. This poem is real for the most part. Again, this is not the best I can give. I admit at being terrible at English poetry. Let me just meet my 15-English-poems quota, then I’m shifting to Filipino.
AKA: When I fail to translate an incredible idea to a nice poem. AKA: This poem is metafictive. HAHA.