Defenestrated


This plant grows suspicious of sunlight: fainting
and wilting to dusk. It had been erratic; like
a lambent flame rambling- on account of
the gritty skies and the cataract of
hammering rain the earth has received.
The leaves no longer

find,

a consistent direction
to spread their needle-like arms.

Its phallic body grows restless; to be
or not to be. But to push against the soil,
the roots are aggresive bulls in the mud;

the sap almost bleeding as it stretches
against air, only to be cut by shards
of broken china- that once
sat by the window.

It has been said, the cactus is sturdy
and has outlived the dessert- but
the question

remains:

beyond the orbit of its species,
can it survive in darkness;
in shambles of the soil?


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 1:15 am

  tastebud

1.

the tables are turned now. you stand on
ground (wet and slimy), where
rats scurry around- their
midnight scavenger hunts.

and when theybumpintoyou, they'd
flash you

their supercilious grin; white and toothy
like the toothpaste commerical. you'd
yelp

in that sudden
prospect of sharing food
with that mickey mouse.

(to think they'd just renovated the place.)

2.

it's not just vermin. who knows, what they'd
add to your wanton soup. lizard eggs
to pass off as ajinomoto;

to frighten
stressful long queues

into stressful long queues;

or cockroach feelers as
chives on your char kway teow

to poison the crowd into returning?

(are there chives on char kway keow?)

3.

of course,
what food heaven is complete

without the irritable uncle;

sweating and panting

like
a furious athelete,

shoving
bowls after bowls (of lard, lard, lard- echo!)
into

(and scalding)

our (delicate) hands.

4.

with the wonders of self-service,

will you still want to eat
at a hawker center?


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:35 pm

  87

1.

"How are you doing?"

I asked,
the cleaner- who was

attempting to make
table 87 cleaner.


2.

"Humid," he replied:

indifferently.

3.

It was sweltering at 35 degrees
celcius.

He was referring to the weather.

4.

His hair was horay, dyed
gray by his son's absence;

he had no patience
for the trivial questions

of my sort.

5.

And he went about, proudly
in his green uniform;

removing

the satay sauce
from my table.

6.

I supose.

He'd want to pour
whatever's in the swill pot
over my head-

7.

for not even
a single sign

of gratitude.

8.

or for

9.

doing something
peculiar-

like trying to strike up
a conversation

with the stranger.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 9:58 pm

  Christmas

is a day where sinners ride on angel wings,
dress in white and go to church; huddled
by sages and congregation- lighting
candles in the advent of salvation.

should have been a day
where:

meretricious women dine
with philosopher kings/
homosexual men dance
with an enlightened pope;

dogma is no more
the arrogation of fanatics,
religion no more
the bird cages of humanity.

should be the day, where
God has died at birth.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 3:16 pm

  Ablution

The rain is ablution, that purges
the scourge of night. There is
no moon in these whispering
smacks of drizzle- only slighted
by the gaze in his eyes.

Oh, he has the moon
in his gaze- a warm gleam
against

the cold
of this midnight shower.

If symmetry had a synonym,
it'd describe the rain
and his eyes.

That washes out
our sins passed.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 11:44 am

  poemless

today is the new normal-

i feel. neither
burden, nor the need
to be needy; neither
sadness, nor the
urge to jump
onto the railway/
for joy; no,

nothing- that i shall not
write a poem for today.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:50 am

  Wreck

1.

I made a midnight snack-
just to make a wreck
of myself. I place it

on the table, near the
cellulite of my paunch.

2.

The bowl of soup,
cream and crouton
is pipping hot- and

how dare it stare
at me; at my paunch.

3.

Tantalus, I begin
to know your predicament.
I could nearly

taste you (Oh, supper!)-
my glands are at work.

4.

I remember the days, where
I could bite on
my mother's breast;

I needn't worry about figure
then- it was her concern; not

mine.

5.

To think I'd be tortured tonight,
by my greatness
as a mathematician,

is ridiculous. But
what appears more

ludicrous;

6.

the logic far less rigorous-
I take that midnight snack,
to make a wreck of myself.

(it is how)
I take that midnight snack,
to make a wreck of myself.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:51 am

  Psychaitrist

It happened again today. It

was as if I was back
at the psychaitrist's office,

a sterelized landscape;
with tables and chairs.

"How are you feeling today,
Jeremy?" He prodded.

This was an invasion; not
one that I would find

comfort in- but of course,
the doctor found it

only routine. "I'm alright,
doctor." I dreaded

the proceedings- this fantastic
silence that follows. If poets

were given a say, we would
proclaim it,

"The Deafening Silence". Alas,
the smell of bleach

and prescription here, would
make any poet faint.

"Yes, did you say something?"
The doctor eyed me suspiciously.

I shook my head. "You said something
about 'The Deafening Silence'..."

His anticipation was grinding me

to pieces. I had said nothing; only
my thoughts said it. But,

the cliched description of silence
yelled out at him still-

"Let's talk about something else," I said.

"No, Ignatiaus. You'd have to
answer me first," he insisted

with his voice presto. I looked at
him- "there is nothing wrong

with me, Doctor!" There
was nothing wrong;

I just felt sad. He stared
at me again, suspicious than ever.

Our eyes locked like lovers, but
I was too depressed/confused

to be in love.

He typed something into his computer;
and then, he sent me away

from his office. With medicine.
He was angry with Jeremy,

not me- Ignatiaus. I walked out
of his clinic, drugs in hand;

as if I had never been in there.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 4:20 pm

  Soma

Christianity- can
only be without tears, when
you and I have eyes.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 2:54 pm

  Assuage
A poem for World Aids Days 2006

1.

This is her litany of fears;

like Larson's musical: " Will I
lose my dignity? Will someone

care?" She is the living; not
the dying from disease-

but how we take her,
as a corpse before the bier.

2.

"So, what will you do now?" I asked,

but she would only gaze at me
with an untold sadness in her eyes.

"I could not empathise,
could I?" I thought-

Her woes were beyond
the experience of an 18 year old.

"I got it when I was 18," she began,

"the terrible irony of it," I thought-
almost hesitant,

almost awkwardly.

"My boyfriend said I was the only one,"
she continued,

"So did mine," I thought-
almost hesitant,

almost awkwardly.

"He was 18 too," she said,

"So was mine," I thought-
almost hesitant,

almost awkwardly.

"Neither of us saw the need for a condom,"
she let on,

"Did he see it the same way as well?" I thought-
almost hesitant,

almost awkwardly.

"We loved the danger," she revealed,

"Danger called out to us," I thought-


"So it was always rough raw fucks for us,"
her honesty shook me;

the cushion seat was trembling
beaneath me- or was it just me?

"Oh, shit." My thoughts were spit into words.

3.

She would not look at me again,

for as long as our conversation would last,
as if her guilt would be assuaged. But

this was no Rent- it was real
and it was happening. She would

want to trudge on with her story- but her
precious minutes should not be,

wasted on a wretch like me.

"Let's talk about something else," I said.

She would only let her eyes
flirt with the white walls- only figuring

I might have seen her as a cadaver cold,
even before the virus has taken hold.

4.

I was ashamed immediately. It
could have been me

in her place.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 1:53 pm

  Prom

"Everyone's going for it," he tells me. My

heart sinks for a beat and drowns
in a star-

splitting moment. I peer into the viewing
globe of history and realise

it is again that I cannot fit
into this Brave New World.

"That hath such creatures in it," I replied. He

looks at me bewildered, trying to catch
onto my thoughts like a train

rushed away from the station. The gale
is a slap across his face,

"Oh. Nothing." The casual tone

in my voice accosts further
the gravitas of his new Zara outfit;

the money you would not spend on home
improvement, you lavish on

one single snapshot moment. But on
my part, I concede it was

"Sour Grapes." He figured and I

could not agree more. He would look
fantastic in that body hugging

silk, blazer blazing as he strides
into the cocktail room,

charming the ladies with sparky
eyes and words.

"It could have been me." I

lost him again in my fit of jealousy. I
wanted to be like him- like

everyone else but I could never. At
seven, I could spell ventriloquist.

At thirteen, they mocked me
becaused I believed,

"Senary is seuxal," the sibilance

echoes from a distant memory. He
looked at me and he knew

I had little affections for my classmates
and the school-

it is not what you are; it is what
you don't become...

"Oscar Levant," he completes

the quote for me and according to him, it's
my favourite- because

I let myself be punished. For I was
unhappy and the execution

was self. Still, it proved I could never
fit into the garments cut out for me;

"I wished I could go for prom," the

confession gleamed in my eyes and I
could have taken his pity as

I desired but I knew the better truth
and despite knowing

that it does not take great imagination
to be happy- I chose otherwise.

"Lets talk about something else," I said.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:46 am