Places

Singapore, Singapore

Singapore, Singapore

« A little later, we might abandon cities altogether, scatter the rich grain of humanity across galaxies, those vast plains and endless glades where everyone would have a bungalow, swimming-pool, garden space. »  —Alvin Pang, Real Estate

Could the Singaporean applicant not have protested
and thrust a poem of simple scenery instead?

Spot the ancient croc submerged in green,
bifocal periscope scanning for terrorist movement....

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The accessory, zipped up,
awaits the blink-off.

Redacted, this could
just end up one jet-lagged lyre.

Keep soul, big stuff in the overhead
administration, says trolley dolly.

Here...

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After Darren Soh

A great hand rises from the ground

to sweep the insubstantial sand,

gathering to a crown, an iron

crown, the roots of homes. A fire

chills the...

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Alerted to it, we tried our damnedest not to notice it.

A damp spot on the ceiling, growing in your shorts… one day, the bag dries up. The morning after the bones were picked, a mosquito’s obligato...

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Food stall 1

Old bald man at market yong tau foo* store
stands below his sign:
10 pieces for $4, $2 per bowl, 50 cents rice.

In between serving customers
before the weekend crowd builds...

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here you are faceless bobs
like flotsam in the strait narrow

sea scented with iridescent oil
radiating in rainbow swirl

as fin glistens before tell-tale lollipops
are sucked into the...

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Careful: step out into the not-quite-street.

It used to be a swamp, and sunk boar, pushed

roots into the air, and stank, and free

from old purposes still it tries to take

you in....

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A poem written inspired by the Silk Princess, a Chinese wood panel painting from the 7th or 8th century. As the BBC's "A History of the World" describes the artifact:

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Until the age of thirteen he lived with his grandparents and their daughter – his father's elder sister – and her husband and only son, in a tiny three-room apartment that no longer exists. Until the age of...

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and this is the beginning of it all,
in the middle of someone
always someone else’s narrative
when one barges in, spewed like an
interruption, our first cries dissonate
(even...

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are easy to possess—the dim tunnel

where trains flow, submerged halls

fevered and dense, make it such

that if we go barefoot we will touch

high places, anyhow—or so they...

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“Wealth … is the means by which we fulfill our desires.”
- Interview with Stan Davis & Chris Meyers, Harvard Business School Publishing

Hence the cat’s languid stretch, its bullet spring,...

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