Previous Feature: anngo genorga
anggo genorga was born and raised in the Philippines, and currently resides in The United Arab Emirates. His work has been included in Bukowski: An Anthology of Poetry & Prose About Charles Bukowski (Silver Birch Press), and in VERSES TYPHOON YOLANDA: A Storm of Filipino Poets (Meritage Press). To read recommended selections of anggo’s verse online, please visit Boston Poetry Magazine, Empty Mirror, and Ppigpenn.
deviation cum meditation
JC died during the late afternoon, it’s written;
flirting with the idea of getting strung-out the
day before, today i planned to conduct my affairs
come early morning. falling from grace shouldn’t
be confused with dogma but i cannot spend
an entire day proving my point. wiser this
morning than last night, i have until
lunch time to prove that i am fucking right.
my self-styled lost weekend cheap imitation
Yoko’s the wife stayin’ overseas. Harry Nielsen
can be my brother whose bitch i fucked as he
believed. Ringo can be the dope-runner living
in my house, trying to get inside my head. Keith
Moon’s the wife gone wild and ballistic with
our dirty laundry and i’m John with May Pang,
undressed on our queen sized bed, her nice legs
spread wide, still wearing her stupid glasses.
slowly losing marbles
that’s me sitting on the corner of the bed and not speaking.
that’s me with my motormouth keeping time with my thoughts.
that’s me waiting on myself to decide on a follow up score.
and there’s the night, always conspiring with my weakness—
this might be the moment i will finally see the thin line
that divides a man’s eventual breakdown as i wrote it.
this might be the time to discover the exact moment
when one loses it and let the other sane one stray.
the bathroom reading
able legs and arms stretched planted firm
on the tiled wall—the brink of abstraction.
revisiting affairs that never really happened
in a room stone cold and dead white.
surrealism and solitude are pleased to meet
one another on the tip of my cock.
come to me, my ladies, get inside my mind
and do me, outside is a harsh reality.
where i live: deconstructed
death sings here
and doesn’t seem to stop;
habits are rejoiced
to this house
built for people
but not to live.
All Hail! Care to receive an empty handshake? If so, click on the logo below to visit anggo genorga’s blog. . .