I sit here along Pili Drive On an unmovable rock Hard as the bones on my pelvis (?) Sandwhiching the thin Fat and skin that covers My butt bones
Behind me A constant stream of vehicles Motorcycles Cars Vans You name it All bound home to Hundreds of families
In front of me The smell of wet grass And mud Conquers my lungs My nostrils Begging for more An aftertaste Of shells, and tadpoles, And cricket eggs
Speaking of which Oh, The crickets. Tiny sirens Under a see of grass Alluring Consuming What is left of the soundscape
A war Between the sounds of Nature And machines For which My ears and temporal lobe Are the battleground
I have no doubt You know Who wins
It is not that you are surrendering fast to LB unlike Pangasinan. No. You are surrendering to this idea this habit that you have to stay some place for as long as you can even if it is no longer working for you.