Summer

smoked salmon skylines streak across my sights
while I run back hesitant, bold and unafraid.
the everyday life outside proved to be too much
to handle, with much ado about nothing more
than a soiled hope of things getting better. these days
pass slowly, with each string strummed individually and
with each chord uttered nonchalantly. day by day, winter
slowly comes. there is an abrupt pause additional. and then
I start running back again. posters and persons greet my face
with their equally blank faces, and I fly past them to get back home.
everyday is an arthouse movie that gets no reviews,
an album streamed by one of your two parents, and then abruptly
paused. the same summer song plays on repeat in a foreign
tongue none but some understand, but what’s the point?
summer starts when the silent streams become rivers.

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Moulded

do you remember that first swipe on tinder
that was made unreceived like a foraging wasp
spreading its toxicity as an unwelcoming sight?
the lone yellow star of the dim forest night flounders
in the kindled heat of its anxious plight; do you remember
that night seven years ago? or maybe six?
the night where you cried yourself to sleep, blessed are you,
the vulnerable and weak, or so you seemed in the moonlight
as the scars of that morning grip you by your ruffled mane,
as they proselytize you to their own version of the truths that remain

do you remember when your thoughts were your own
before the solitary wasp gave way to greater pride?
I do not.

Reality

the next monday morning, the hunter enters the den,
and drags out the golden shroud of a lion made un-alive.
of gold the cloak shimmers as it floats down to the central isle,
custom permits its validation and absolution (a right of goodwill),
and so the dead travel to the mountains of old,
enters a pariah, an ambition in stone, a granite passage
emerging from the core.

to him this is everything, everything
it represents. his words evade caution, and need no protection.
his words are true, and truer than true. so be the words
of an undead few. his word is sacred, his word is cursed.
concealment evades the caution it deserves.

upon the mountain the snow lies in stasis, obfuscating
the path soon to be trodden. upon the zenith his words
were crystal, clearer than night, truer than the angels.
the lion stays dead, deader than the deadest, its cry remembered
as a fading vibration. far away, he weeps in his silence,
as he fell below, without his life golden.

what would he do except confide
in the molten truth he chose to relay,
what he believed would save a man
when he believed it would save

Together; Changing Times

there’s something special
about hearing a familiar tune
on another’s speaker; there’s
something cool in those bars
of rhyme and reason. do tell,
why did you not say before?

there’s something calming: seeing
a typeface you use to write
poems each day for a month or
“the quick brown fox jumps
over the lazy dog.” you’re
another with which I have similar.

~

would it not be better for us
to grow old together; friends
lazing at a hawker center, with
kopi o and whatever the future
can bring us. newer magazines
of chili crab coastlines, a new
design, a sense of rhyme, a
new aesthetic, and a tune of mine

loops 101

def am_i_fed_up(learning, language):
if language == "python":
print("No more.")
elif language == "japanese":
if learning <=4:
print("But when?")
else:
print("Not any time soon… But when?")
else:
print("Yes.")

am_i_fed_up("this is too", "hard")

>> “Yes.”

golden logic are etched upon neo-green walls of microcities.
towering plastic structures are home to more than one instruction
binary state, upwards battle, uphill climb, electric saddle
it’s time to learn, one more language, one too many, magic puzzle

one one zero zero one one one zero zero one zero one
this fancy rhythm; it means fun; three thousand, three hundred, one.
algorithm, one more done, one more error, no more fun.

A Chemical Overreaction

put equal parts lye and spirits of salt
together gently; drop by drop falling from
an funnel-like sky, changing chemistry,
we were watching the ratio flow past one to one
you screamed — stop — and we were too late
we’ve gotten too caught up in ourselves
(one to one, together gently)
ultimately harmless beyond this logarithm
of drip, drop, drip, drop, done, done! drip, stop!
I thank you for knowing when to end.

Continue reading “A Chemical Overreaction”

The Understanding of a Friend

The both of us together is a wonder.

Our eyes pierce one another with analytical stares;
It wasn’t a casual glance of generalising scowls
This single moment means forever, we blink and then
the truth sets in, and you approach me silently
with open arms.

I feel the warmth of your dull coloured sweater
against the chill in this cold, dark weather
I feel the great joy of your embrace
against this congestion of bad days

A voice utters a series of words I cannot comprehend.
In the moment, I was utterly lost and struck with pallor.
I found myself saying, “What does it mean?”
“Appreciation.” Yes, that was the answer.

I wish that moment could have lasted forever.

 

Continue reading “The Understanding of a Friend”

Wax-Based Ailerons

They say that the riverbed is the birthplace
of civilisation; (oh, how far we’ve come).
Unchanging the sun bids farewell as our pupils dilate further,
we look upwards stuck in shoeboxes
and other temporal shelters in the bosom of the desert.

Knowledge of Aquila and Heracles herald of obsession; oh
indeed, so far we’ve come; Flowers destroyed in casual action,
(but there’s nothing wrong with that!)
and wax havens become catacombs, tortuous recessions
of purest, white abodes. Oh, how far they’ve gone.

These are the times we take flight.

To Balance Against a Feather

(This is our philosophy reimagined.)

Life has the lion’s share of pleasures,
these agitations tied non-linear (logarithmic?)
portrayed crudely through mismanaged flux,
That of disposition, and callous idiosyncrasies,
Chemical enigmatic (current flow: automatic)

Natural progression (count: 1, 2, 3)
Fulfil the blessings of a meta-familiar mind.
Restriction falls like a snake on a garden;
And with it falls the burden of life. (rest upon your shoulders)
(count: 35) and eyes reveal seven geometric
confinements, restriction falls as a threat
(now follow) flow stunted at best.

(The rest is unknown.)

 

 

A Note Regarding The Circumstances Of Reality

I still dream of you every night,
a fantasy shining ever-bright, full
of color and feel and depth and matter,
unscratched edges rough with pallor

Beside me you lie before my eyes;
I am unable to reject
the price of the past. I look
at the future, still hopeful.

It’s terrifying, but you still sleep
by my side. What I feel is real but
to you, unnatural. You never leave me
but you’re never there.

I touch your face calmly every night.
I utter, “this is perfect; you and me”
I kiss your forehead in respite
“I believe this is our destiny.”