time is still. and cold air bites into my skin without remorse. there are so many things that i want to do with my life, yet i just that there's something holding me back. the lack of desire, passion and motivation. they say that your life flashes by just before you die - i'm thinking that when it happens to me, all i'd see would be a big black -SPLAT-. my life. nothing interesting. nothing so far.
nada. shit. squat. nothing. zero.
I am concrete dreams
escalating by Clarke Quay floating
on tonic and gin, grinning at the white folk
who pay my girls. I am 92 degree Wednesdays,
sweat stained schoolboys and soccer mud shoes
in a thirty people bus carrying forty,
with pineapples and mandarin oranges
sagging in a bag. I am mahjong playing
ancients, smoking. I am aluminum louvers and glowing
altars stabbed by joss sticks.
I am 89 degree yellow Tuesday crisping,
walking past single story miracles
that sell only bananas and coke.
I am water edged with a failing sense
of humor, green, with chlorophyll pages wafting
to Chinese opera on street corners. I am Lion dance
on Orchard road, flaunting my red,
denying my blue. I am Gucci and Prada
blighting oriental silk; wearing gray and Nikes
when I need nothing and slippers
I am five thirty sunrise. I am water
reclaimed as earth.. I am Friday evening beach ball
gone too far into sea, spicy barbeques and Cantonese
satin swearing. I am climbing trees to stare at people in matchbox
apartments vacuuming parquet. I am Heineken and jazz
washed over by Orion, diluted.
I am strangers
asking “have you eaten”, offering peanuts in patchwork
old town, smelling like cloves,
graced with beetle nut spit.
