Poetry
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You bottled message parlor woman. You crackled knuckle. You tremulo. I am divining josses in your will. I am folding you into a boat. I am paying Father to take a short trip. To look elsewhere. Oh, you cloud of jade. You page of filled out crossroad answers. You wreath of drawers. You little wreck…
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First of all, throw what you don’t need. Do not recycle – save this poison from the Earth. No more travel brochures, guides, photos. No more newspaper clippings of dream destinations. Those only breed silverfish. Next, make a commitment. Never let clutter in again. Do not let it stay. Do not let it set. No…
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written for Alt Txt – Experimental Poetry workshop, conducted by Desmond Kon Title taken from Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Sonnets to Orpheus, No.18 14 fixed words (although I guess I should have shifted stanza 1 to make a spine with stanzas 2-4) Should come back and edit this some day
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When the curtains fall -that’s it. Well, everything ends eventually. So, there isn’t any real meaning to it. No extended metaphor. The only conceit is mine. The story just ends, its characters, presumably, not having learnt any better, and people may or may not like the ending. That is OK. Personally, I’d rather the…
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Holes 1. When the holes started popping up so did the epiphanies. Men and women rushing to the mountain, eager to find where they fit. When it showed up on the telly I wanted to switch it off – but there I was, rewinding and rewinding the footage, trying to see if anyone I knew…
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Once, you asked me what I would want for myself; I answered as you would have wanted, i.e. mark of a man, a six-pack, job that pays good money etc. 5Cs and COE, a happy family. Another time you asked me ridiculous koans: what is the sound of two butts farting. If a NSman shits…
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pause for thought – one mistake begets another. A treatise on compulsive lying: how one wears long sleeves even in summer, how one nods along to the rhythmic ritual of “yes, I am fine.” No. Break the glass – this is not just an emergency this is real life. Real in the sense that there…
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rap scallions pop corn jazz hands gloves worn heat higher pounding meat tender riser sinful treat dapper diner whisky dandy reeses’ pieces risky candy caramel dripping sweet tripping salad tossing caesar dressing sunkissed tomato red cheek bare bodies rump steak —- spwm day 3
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Paralyzed and emotionally stunted, poet finds solace in unread words. Sometime tell me it’s wrong to be. Mad, about everything and nothing. Sad about something for sure. If God is real, is this ataraxis, or bad writing? Am I a background character on this ugly stage? The man in a tree costume. I feed, off…
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in this there is no justice, no law. Here I throw myself against you, oh Wall, oh Mystery. Who am I to say who you are? But I know this: I crave for you the way plants grow towards the sun. Yet I cannot see you. I cannot know you. I have never truly known either.…
ugly stage 