‘You’s and ‘i’s

‘You’s and ‘i’s

yesterday i wondered
how the world would turn
if we capitalized
our ‘y’s in You
instead of our ‘i’s

we’d probably feel
shorter
but delight at the sight of
a pearl perched
precarious precious
like a small sun
on top of
a slender 1(one)

and our ‘You’s
would look nicer
if it began
 with a man
with his hands
in the air

and we might think for a moment or two
when we say or write something to a ‘You’

The Blobbing Fish

Superhero

Superhero

The man lies bleeding on the road

his staggered breathing

Irregular

 

Clean white bone

Growing out his chest

Like some fungus unknown

Leeching his every breath

 

Supposed life flash

Blinded

By the camera flashes

Of fleeting phantoms chanting

‘Not my problem’

 

As his last breath fades

Like a receding wave

His hollow pupils

Stare

At the ‘Coming Soon’ ads;

Batman. Spiderman.

‘Thanks…’

 

The Blobbing Fish.

 

 

 

 

Plastic Bags

Plastic bags

Children
play with air filled
plastic bags
like weightlifting ants

rising updownupdown
like their laughter
a pin cushion of vowels letters
beneath their bag of dreams

so simple and sweet
a half licked lollipop
held by their teeth

they did not see
their parents frown
and the grades and ranks
that was in that bag

The Blobbing Fish
This was written in the wake of the release of Hong Kong's public exam results-
an inhumane experience and one that I was lucky enough to avoid.

100% grapefruit juice

(I'm back after a 2 week hiatus in Thailand! Enjoy :) )

100% grapefruit juice

i bought
100% grapefruit juice
went home
meant to

stick it in the fridge
feel it freezing
imagine it
frolicking
with ice cubes
cold sweat clinging
to smooth glass
and me sucking it
through the tube

oh the relief
of it glazing my teeth
hitting my throat
till I croak
with pure pleasure

but I drank
straight from the carton
pure
without ice
at precisely
room temperature

and the juice
lukewarm and bitter
was you

The Blobbing Fish

importance of a clean marble floor

importance of a clean marble floor

the mall is vacant
like a miscarried womb
echoes of your breathing
rampant
in the 5:25 sunlight groom

mannequins in store windows
pose
for trapped ogling shadows
stuck to the marble floor where
the cleaner scrubs bare
his own reflection
the pane now a periscope for subsequent phantoms
to slyly compare
their shades of smoke in the air

each silent squeak a good morning
for those asleep and safe from living

The Blobbing Fish.

Still

Still

The body lies in the red box

Still as a spider’s web

Stretched

With water drops

 

The red shell glazed

Like the simple face

Oblivious to the

numbing race

 

The world outside shrunk to the

Thread

Suspending the

Good luck cat

With its plastered grin

A pendulum frozen in mid-swing

Still.

 

Then a roar, the thread swings;

And your inexplicable shudder

As the taxi behind you squeals its rubber.

 

The Blobbing Fish.