the Fallen idol

driving home from work one evening his heart refused to skip a beat
it was as if he could foresee himself maintaining
skillfully,
his centre of gravity for days to come.
at ease with
the uncharacteristic dry June air, he wetted his lips
almost triumphantly
for he knew that by doing so he could
quench history
and irrigate his future yet,
somewhere in this ajar city, a pocket of desire, momentarily unmanned,
in unwitting stupor fashion
unleashes violent shrieks, tasting
the long-awaited freedom with their
voices. now
a deadly calm threatens his co-existing
serenity and
just like that, he was chipped;
felled. all these -
while he made his way home whistling a
tune,
behind the armour of
his 4-
wheel drive.

-SQ806, bound for Shanghai, 200707