lot one

for fear of fragmentation

   I decided

   to tie myself to my roots.

instead of wandering alone on ‘deck’ or whatever

                       I find myself

          spilling shit on myself

mocking piety

hiding apathy

in choa chu kang.


  a woman with

   hair styled a horse

   and a dress wild black


 a book home.

Does she wish to be free?

Does she know I

  a voyeur

     a pervert

         a creep

has recorded her into my words?

   Does she know

she will remain captive


       in these words?

Does she need to be free?

And here I was

         having just read some Sa’at

 and books

   by some guy

whose name I forgot; all I know

is that he led a band

slammed somewhere in 2007

and that he was





1. lot one is a singporean shopping mall.

2. I am very, very tired.

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