Poetry
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it was evening / when we foundyou in the garden / sleeping in the middle of a fairy ring / or that’s how we’ve chosen to interpret the event / now know that I am not saying you are magic / but rather that it is drawn to you / like all new mysteries are
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Give me a poet who does not know violence like the inside of their mouths, their tongues running across it to smooth the groove. Give me a poet who does not know what it means for injustice to take root and become its own narrative. Give me a poet who is not afraid of the
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I am thinking of far-flung lands where iron towers rise from the muddy earth erect and foreboding, these beautiful sabers aimed at the heavens. The cloudsare a splotch of grey vomiting out the dried-up tears of yesterday’s disaster, but they are not enough to put the fires to sleep. Rain pulses across the roofs of
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raise the curtains over this beehive / here is a magic trick / you have to wait for time to tell you the secret / but it’s noisy still / noisy still / noisy still / so much movement in so little space / is also a metaphor for my heart of hearts / there’s
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I have been in a very discovery mood recently /I find that my mind explodes like a new year firecracker over the absolute smallness of things / It is as though one thing is said but a million possibilities are now open to me / Yesterday in the midst of writing a paper I heard
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A root snaking into the wrist to find its way vining throughand around the spine like the snake on the staff of Hermesbut completely satiated and quite unlike its nature it doesnot feel like hunting today. There is a certain zone between the ground and space where no-one owns.Sometimes when I think about you I
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I goose-body tether-walk down garden-pathfind picnic blooming pumpkins on picnic-mat and ten thousand ways to dishat a man my body plump with feathers and natural malice and my beak a car’s horn of notice me notice no geese allowed in the pub no geese allowedI am a walking instability of kinetic energy drawn to pull
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Let it all work out in the end of the river where you broughtyour children to drown their aspirations for somethingfar beyond the stage of this stage of life I lie face-down in the water and pretend I am an island Some waters call for waiting on bursting dams as a poorly conceived childbirth metaphor
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A poem I wrote is now out in SingPoWriMo Issue 1: The Lines we Navigate. You can check it out here: https://www.singpowrimo.com/features/micky-mouse-on-dropping-a-bomb-over-the-enemies-of-america-in-the-thick-of-wwii-valen-lim
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Every day the wind blows, every way the cars flow like koi in the street, every flow in nature a flow towards a bottomless cliff; I want to be bottomless as a pond full of koi, I want to be boundless as the cliff drawing your hands towards the edge; every tree a spectator, every
ugly stage 