transmitted messages to orphaned pagers litter the landscape, sullying the soil with words which follow others , phrasing phrases such as “I’ll call you sometime”, “I’ll see you tomorrow”, et cetera et cetera ad infinitum. we lie facing up, like numbers on a tattered phonebook – seeking reception – but we operate face down; plugged out, zoned out, ruled out. our batteries seek chargers and the chargers seek us, yet out in the dark, the lukewarm glow of a mobile phone still illuminates a face. in its eyes lie the answers to everything you wanted to know, but never dared to ask in person, for fear of interference, of eyes peeking over your shoulder. the world continues to turn, and so we orbit in turn. There is nothing to stop this connection. I call you. Ring.


Another attempt to emulate Harvey…I have some time these two weeks. Might as well try writing more.

What lies ahead after these two weeks?

Filed under: Original, Poetry, Prose


A member of Singapore-based writing collective /stop@BadEndRhymes ("/s@ber"), Valen dwells in the swamp of poetry. He has been published in various publications, including Anxious Poets Society, Eunoia Review and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore. He has performed his work at the Arts House, the Singapore Art Museum, and in various dingy bars.

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