Trouvère at night, grammarian in the morning, ruefully architecting syllables-
but in the afternoon my ivory tower falls.
I take a place in the bus among people returning to
love (domesticated) and the smell of onions burning
and women reaping the washlines as the Angelus tolls.
But I — where am I bound?
My garden, my four walls
and you project strange shores upon my yearning:
Atlantis? the Caribbeans? or Cathay?
Conductor, do I get off at Sinai?
Apocalypse awaits me: urgent my sorrow towards the undiscovered world that I
from warm responding flesh for a while shall borrow:
conquistador tonight, clock-puncher tomorrow.
- Nick Joaquin
Nick Joaquin
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