to love

what i would give
for a pulse is what
i will acquire with being
able to just love

a bittersweet moment in a foodcourt

hunched but endearing
the tiny couple, tucked quietly
into a corner of their twilight
years, sat across one another
with plastic bowls of mee pok in
between them, concentrating
intently on the food and its taste,
nevermind even the food trays,
they can stay where they are
this is a bittersweet moment that I see:
overlapping years of straw-
laced mats, now oversized plates,
quietly seized just as memories
of yesteryears, of backlane smokes and
yoddling peddlers, the gentle changing of
scenes spell out not just a duration of
having survived, but a survival into a foodcourt

loose organs

backpaddle (asap) and the spine will dislodge with the entire cavity in toll leaving the flesh in residual gestation of vomit that was once a heart, a lung, an appendix or something, but has now, decidedly remained within its flimsy wrapping only to be later regurgitated and then ushered to cannibals waiting peripherally in-line to grasp every wonderful bit of anatomy
backpaddle at once!

hyperactivity

ike rain
trik le fr m ghett es,
h avens ab ve,
a d sandw ched i olations
o to my tiny
isla d and i to
t is whispe ed
co fessi n tht is
tha kf lly, too war m
t stay p t

spectrum

this is
but the
coming
of age
of its
ancestry

my greenery

entice red lanterns
to play in black
colour-clad wasps
eating into the air
push night's hurry
into forever's gold
engage my greenery
supplant and stare

15 by 20

resting tips
tapping, sending,
retrieving pixels
that occur,
attract, consume
and delay
real reactions
beyond this
15 by 20
that is
not just
flat, but
also sad

p s alm

Rain, where
curtains fail,
delighting
ponds into
dam-building.
This gift
that destroys
is totally human,
and almost
religious.

betwixt and between

a little to the right
(your shoulder's showing)

to the left now,
(keep your arms in)

to the right again,
(shuffle shuffle quickly)

O!......................
and
you
just
tip
so easily
over

i, attended

i
sit
alone
tending to me
tending to you
tending to meaningful social actions
alone
sat
i, attended

size and measure

when evil is pronounced, aspirations
that launch kamikaze moles
of ki off its epicentre,
race them against flows,
only to land as balancing weights on eyelids,
ceasing to be only after someone
somewhere has been
made atomically
lesser.

so,
how big do you feel today?

smallest peaks

morsecodebeatspepperingdwindling
soaringstringstugginglifting
dirtytexturesscratchingrubbing
smallestpeaksscalingreaching
alasejaculating

imagerie

死 B
u
i
l
d
i
n
g

every 3 days or so,

feel eyes moving
off your body

(relentlessly

coveting
)

off your back, your trunks, your subterranean skins
ahoy ahoy ahoy!
casting synthetic ropes tipped with
homing
hooks, then
at around every third day, start
grappling; reeling
in the saline solutions and amoebic matter

that provide the blueprint for the next 2 days of endless
mimicry

first thought best thought

i wish to jump

crowded at the extremities

lately i have been crowdedattheextremities there seems to be toomuch to unload that maybe i should
just stand still and
stop collecting

"Break open skin!
let loosethem over-excited toxins
as they perform
their
long-o
v e rdue
arc!"
If
only
I'd
stop
bouncing and for once,
just jump. .

DNA

w H a t' syou rexac t scaf ol ding?



10 11 10 11 00 Program ming



laug hAlon g withth isparti cular spring



weepen dlessly atthe aw fullypla inKing

plastic

whenevers
emit loose chains
of opiate smoke - in
reverence of brittle
whatevers.
(sending
second-hand ascensions
into its mechanical
suction
)
- withdrawal is the new
ohm; and He: who moves through
delicately,
conducts a rain dance
through his ears. and (soon
it starts to sprinkle.
then a king wave.) that finally lifts
this prayer to the next
highest visible octave.

inhale!

the placebo effect

clad in postmodernity's
camouflage half-
attire, the image that forms
is
ironically archetypical

- of
fellow comrades in arms
strapped onto a collective trigger
which detonate bodies like homing shells, yet
sprouting feet that remain
firmly planted on bloodless, placebo ground -

this happens to be your martyrdom
(amid urban Singapore, 2007), unleashing
warrior images that run amok
in the MRT,
as long as the cloth upon your head shuts out
imaginary detractors like myself

then soon, the skies will open
and together we shall behold the flames that will enrapture
like astronomy's fireworks
celebrating the ashes of the history of seas

on the back of one of modernity's Cyclopses

we were both waiting
in traffic, along
this one-way piece of shit
i glanced sideways, hands
firmly on the steering wheel
and we met, on a plane
amid, exhaust and
noise, you
watching over your
shoulder as if you have been beaten
into that mould, i
find
your humanity your decency
hardsolid
brillantlycast
almostangelicandsuddenly
tearful
you kept your ground your
stare, demolishing your charcoal
your labour, and blinding that singular blinking
eye of your man-eater. i
was the first to waver,
to hurridly escape this heat and cower
in the comfort of coolness
the lights changed, and i seemed to still be
in waiting even though i had proceeded some way
straight ahead while you,
slightly-hunched and god-like, continued on
to the right, turning, on the back of
one of modernity's Cyclopses.
i sit trembling still
to this day, thinking of the seconds
(we met
in a place without frills): it was where there was just the
right amount of condensation - on glass!
that could perhaps
never be reached by all that physics
or politics is