poem
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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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First, patience. Second, patience – but to a reasonable degree. Patience, such that I may wait, without an inkling of what you were thinking. Maybe take a few centimetres off me, so the distance between us can shrink, by that inch which seems like a mile. Perhaps, fingers just a centimeter shorter, so that our
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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.
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I bought 22 calendars and stacked them, to see how long I could stand those blank squares, like rooms in a HDB; as empty as drywall. Everything, anything could fit- anything could have. But the pages are glued shut now, lost to memory. Will you be with me today next year? I shudder. How many
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I sit and patiently receive your curveballs with my ungloved hand. It hurts me as much as herpes. Yes, I let you smother me with this sad wetness. Yet the first drop is never the same as the last drip. Like how one stranger is the same as another yet not the same. How a
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i. Those fearful,distant words, these hollow,centered wishes; surely in twenty years they’d have expired. But they haven’t. Fossilized, they stay forever: pointed, sharp, piercing, true. These are facts that we cannot change. Bridges we cannot rebuild. Tell me darling how do I tie this rope’s frayed ends into one again? How do I forget the taste
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keep everything within. pack the corners with cellophane, lung with cigarette. tight thoughts without forms: is whoever my pincushion my religion? what is what? is what is, is? questions without answers. journeys without destinations. sealed tight, that unknowable great, that observing cloud, is but a mason-jar of desperation, that’s swirling, and swirling still, never at
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In this house of flies I sit with my mouth agape, two-jaw encore to a wake. Eyes wide and white as saucers. Face masked in a glossy sheen. All insects die; yet here I am, still thriving like a beehive. Someone’s fucking shouting again. The queen smacks the back of my head and again, someone’s
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If I could, I would give myself to some unknowing God, tribal chief, prostrate bone against blood – if it meant that all of you were safe forever. To be kind, this crushing sense of love – it permeates the skin, a henna tattoo. I feel its breath, pressing down on my back, a cape
ugly stage 