Sunset Sutra (After Ginsberg)

I looked out my window -- day before I turn 25 --

and see! a goldenperfectform disk, fighting

the night, bobbing behind Bataan mountains,

crosses, invisible sea of sharks, elite

beach resorts, package tours for people

who answer calls and wake up to sunsets

like these, and curse the night. See -- I'm

talking to a Physics friend now, talk of time

travel, poverty, coffee beans and tea

leaves, see it's possible but not

important, look at the future. No, look at

what's now, what's here, the sun will come out

tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you Sabado,

pati na rin Linggo lang ang pahinga,

Nanay I don't want to take in calls. Nanay

I don't want to be jaded and get tired of sunsets.

Nanay when will I start writing quiet

poems? Nanay when will I win thousands

in raffles? Nanay show me a sign. Look

at them run. Sunset and clouds, now

a silhouette, yesterday storm-

unlikely, tomorrow something

unpredictable, always there, fiery

invisibly, like Bataan nukes at a Westinghouse

2 a.m. dry run, glow-in-the-dark

deer, disks in inner space, look!

a goldenperfectform disk, Bon Jovi

in a blaze of glory, a phoenix playing

a game of who loves more than whom,

burning eighteenth-floor eyes in a false

sunrise, calculator smiles of 1's and 0's,

headset mouths talking in tounges of

electric current, waking up Sturgeon Bay,

Wisconsin with another burning "Sweet

Jesus!" coming down in Manila and coming

up 12 timezones distant, a cycle of

rage and rain. Who knows, tomorrow

might bring grey. No one waits for calls.

Everyone waits for the sunset, and

goes home with grey rain visages. Nobody

curses you anymore, phoenix-to-ashes disk,

firestorm another day away.