the way we did it was,
the way we used to do it,
the way we had to do it:

this could be us but u
know I fxcked it up, like
the only way I know how
to be honest is in the poetry tags
between the cheese platter and
the illustrator format. the only way
I know how to be honest
is in the middle of poems
because people skim like milk

   the beauty of a silkworm / it spins
its feelings. the history of the world
in a thread. the strongest natural material
in the world / is emotions. like atrophos
with her abhorred shears at the 5$ hairdresser /
call the salon samsara. today I choked my sink
bare with my hands / every time I comb my hair /
thoughts of you get in my eyes / 
the magus formerly
known as prince

I know you’ll pooh-pooh that. not you,
the other you. the one who’s tried
so hard to stop believing.

so, the way we used to do it. all fragment and pear / sweet blackeyed hackneyed sorghum rearing back past the parameters of good taste. mangosteen season. you know it’s offensive, but I’m so hung up on the taste of that honey. I put my face over that place in your chest and stuck a needle into the smooth plum heart there, a banana blossom larger than your fist. why’d I have to go and do that? why couldn’t I leave well enough alone?

relinquish. the red thread you tie ties you. why couldn’t I stop with the fishhooked mouth, terrorising the storm, refusing to smoke out the forest fires, tailgating, shoplifting, looking every horse in every mouth?

I’m the carmine beetle caught in my own throat. so I fucked up. I’m the dragon, I got hided and tanned, do you want anything else with that comeuppance? I invented bruising, manicures, and the sunday sermon. I’m sorry now. I’m utterly bereft and I’ll leave you to happiness / if you can withstand it. the heirloom pearls, the atlas moths. we can go to a late-night viewing if you want. it’s that time. a franchise I never got around to agreeing to watch.

stop thinking about it. today with my eyes like moonlit piss pools. recognise. I’m just a dumb ghost / hung up / on not being whole. making room. tuning the lights to an acceptable hue. pressing both thumbs down back when we still had cassette players on both fast-forward and rewind. of course you know what happens. of course you do. once I saw centipede larvae trying to maul each other fat, translucent-white, blind. utterly harmless but attempting to kill. this is not my problem but it still hurts / this is my problem so I swallow

again / so tell me what my problem is. / a hurting lane. how my fucked up feet prevent dancing. coming uncharted by wikipedia pages. taking pop lyrics as a personal affront. seeing through a veil darkly. my labyrinthine communication skills. an inability to / pick up / and put down objects at appropriate times.



u can’t pry

how far the water falls 

flat / no depth perceived

a single third eye
wishing well means

every misplaced coin

for an I Hope

You Are Happy
regretting wrong means
the paradox of you

can have it / only if

you don’t need it

labradorite scabbed

scarab / excise me, I

just need to ventolin

fumble inhaler suck

an urgent raspy blessing. 

if you can’t close your eyes

with confidence you can’t

call it resting. / your naked tongue 

a holy text. burdensome 

and prone to mess. 
I’m saying I / know not to

wreck. / or at least better

than I should. the carbon

copies run our blood / the

photostat ink whiff is puce. 

the difference is from / come

on in & come in on. come

the fuck on / pls come back. 

I love / when violent skies. 
the ebullient bulbous. a fragment

of loud ass whisper. 

sat myself down / self-care is

conducting interrogation

with a bedside lamp.


sa sa sa is how hentai lesbians
hiss in pain. they say I miss. say you
’ll never be happy so go for it anyway.
not the lesson I wanted to learn.
use a reed diffuser to de-internalise
suffering. get a candle called Island Spa.
we don’t play rough any more with

the cow’s bells. I’m going to give
your teat a ring. have nothing
but oranges in my mouth. you
don’t want the stainless steel

in another story you
turn around. with your forearms
grasp the wheel. number 10.
which 1+0 becomes
number 1. numerology. it
is easy. know you’re bad
at math. you’re running in now
from the pitch like sweat
is free. like saltwater’s
holy. the day after I got
a stomach ache like grief
and blood between my sheets
even if it’s only number 17
of the cycle


three times we pressed the rose quartz
back      you twice I just the once
because you did              the cheap adhesive the only stone
what wouldn’t stay

nighttime she drops       a final click
and I leave her be
off the charts
like she wants

D says letting it be
means to work at it

in this you and I
cease to disagree


love, the first time I watched << all about lily • chou-chou >>, we spent half a year referencing indie japanese cinema and getting angry about 2% skim milk, ke$ha’s name (pronounced kay-dollarsign-HA!), & people who eat tapioca unironically. the next faceless boy with whom I appended my name on the other side of an &mpersand had eyelashes like even-toed ungulates and convinced me through his set-square ways that I should probably be more poly(nomial) in the next equation. he called me a sl*t when I shaved my head, but not my slit. I once wrote a poem about chinese men 🚮 and how I could never date one because it would feel too much like the penetrative act of bamboo torture. but you said this morning, 1/4 chinese can or not? so these days I pretend all the people in my tarot deck have disappeared to convince myself you’re still the right direction^. ^with your own post-nuptial contract conditions

#‎SingPoWriMo2015Day08 ‪#‎SingPoWriMoDay08 ‪#‎marylyntan The @#)(*) Prompt – write a poem including the following symbols: ! $ &* ( ) . , ‪#‎bonus – include @ # % ^ < /