Angular Momentum
Summer rain comes as a mercy:
soothing the parched souls with life,
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April Song
There’s a sorrow nesting on my balcony.
I could not get it to leave;
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Merchant Queen
A conversation with you is a store
full of shoes
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Walls
There is decay in this house, buried beneath
The dusty cabinets and empty perfume bottles
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Sirens
location: an artifical desert - as if god requires help to scorch the earth
My throat itches in this cold weather,
Meanwhile the lion grooms me with its coarse tongue
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hex
electronic superhighway this chest of drawers is made of wood - laminate, perhaps, but its brass handles have inherited a patina: whose hands have caressed them over the years, what secrets have they dutifully kept - the locks mere decoration now but they must have worked at some point - why are musings like this only artificed by attempting to write down something beautiful on paper
electronic superhighway the ticking of the clock - another faux-old thing i picked up in a thrift store - is always masked by the sounds of these speakers: was it a curse to invent such efficient universal machine - was turing prometheus or icarus
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A Bath in Kensington
The moment I heard the drums
I wept
Isn’t this the music I love
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Shophouses
It’s been 12 years since
shophouses, getting lost,
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Serpentine #1
This skin is stuck: I am
molting, which is quite natural, but
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Serpentine #2
Jump, I hear Her say
even if it’s clumsy
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