Balikbayan

One week on the streets

unanchored crashing houses

on the way to people time places

I did not think to miss

crossing old bridges in repair

and new ones that were not on

the list of faces staring

at me from every vertical

taking up space for the right

to stain a finger and a nail

a great Kafkian mass

toppling in on itself

is it even worth it

to remember a day

when it did not rain in December

so I visited lives changed

but lived the way they were meant

struggling to make sense

futile like the desperate gyrations

of eight naked men

I cannot look in the eyes

but persistent enough bombarding

my consciousness in front of me

and all around dick in hand

I forget whose while beside me

a tattoo on the arm reads

"Bulwak" aptly on my hands

and jeans and shirt and everywhere

else still trying to find the peace

leading me back to one set of eyes

my stained hands reaching over

to offer friendship grasped

instead I drown and sink further

I have nothing more to give.