Saturday, October 31, 2015

3 poems || Felino A. Soriano

a selection from configuring recollections

from XXI – XXX

Of the age, monumental

my home a delicate distance::birth
into the crawl/walk/drive
paradigmatic lean toward

                                       this legal

definition of numerical inhalation—

entering where light pivots/pulls

diagrammed pulsing
the life toward understanding is the supposed
enactment generations witness

as how the hinge of path
creates permanent (or, altered)
delinquency or gregarious
optimistic segways

comprised dichotomy of a being’s circumstantial circumference

I’ve despised and evaporated

this disdain, an

curtailing physiology, a melt, a percussion
of heavy hands
drawing dissipation         as ongoing goal-philosophy—

I’ve enjoyed and solidified

of pre-shaped near-irony
if irony was the mirror’s
role in reminding the face
is only of the holder’s       not
the watchers’ indication
of misspelling fathoms—theirs

I’ve divided
these corporeal echoes
collected data to encourage dialogue
aligning dilemmas, dissecting
what’s needed and undesired
within the pure movement
of how structure of moments’
dedicate shape and the positional
decision to halt or
become the ambulatory indication
to find and continue, whole

1:00 a.m.

near where I’ve driven
into 100’s of prior contoured

              this early aspect of
morning’s spectral discoveries—

home, my home, my dedicated
focal experience of where all comfort
dialogued with what my hankerings

driving, a softened silence, left turn
into the driveway::the mirror’s
horizontal quiet an
act of dissipation with
sharp plosion of
bleeding light and echo
of a hitherto truant fear:: the officer’s
voice a blatant breath—

                                                          a genesis of wonder
                                                          if my appearance
                                                          appositional to the
                                                          time’s typical yawn

gave purpose to

where are you coming from?
is this your car?
is this your house?
show me your keys . . . you
look young . . . you
shouldn’t be out this late

                                                          to turn was to realize and
sense created an absence
of fear and turntable
redundance as
each echo of occurrence
walked within the morning’s
remaining numerals

collecting my rest and
disturbed revelation

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