you said last night you think I am magic.
& you have that inescapable purple in your aura,
pivoting like vonnegut’s wampeter, which is why
the animals are magnetically-drawn to you,
unlikely cult carp whisperer.we all eventually have to do psychic maintenance
so half-hour to midnight means walking
on elevated concrete roadside benches,
holding in hand that feeling of being sure
like lollipops in the mouth or stone bracelets,
like sitting crosslegged under the esplanade bridge.

someone but not me needs to paint
your bullock shoulders your nimble wrists
your inability to unplug from Real Life:
maybe it is because you want to be
a different height that you refuse to
allow short-circuits.
is this what they mean by industry?

binding your own wrists in neoprene cuffs,
you permit leather blindfolds that can’t cover the
quirk of your smirking mouth & your insistence
that your hard-on is good for at least something,

even if it is hanging dirty towels like
a criminal execution. your kisses are

a study in botany,
like things to be taken apart and examined
under bright lights and steel tweezers.
like the ball of your thumb is a thing
to be taken to heart.

even afterthoughts of you feel like
the uniform fuzz of carefully-shaved head,
firm touches, scented turquoise pineapple
crystalline and now I know

the sound of a three-hour telephone voice
is a tall glass of citrine, sea kelapa syrup
spread excruciating over the railwork system,
like a lapdance, like the fatigue carried in the
arched feet of someone who inhabits heels, like
trails of formic acid, like
busy, busy, busy.

I miss you
even when I am next to you,
you said,

and I took this as thundercloud omen,
storms wielding wet bargaining chips
but you’ve always loved finding the sublime
in the mundane and I’ve written so many
poems about marrying the divine and the
profane that we know we can find
both pedestrian and arcane in the

you said, I am afraid
we are only really good for each other in bed
but some good advice is do what you love.
stretch before dancing. and eat more broccoli
even if you don’t particularly like it. wax
lyrical about your mussels one more time.
buddy wakefield famous slam poet says
when you feel like stepping back from the mic,
step forward.

I am backing away very slowly now so
I don’t startle you. I am whispering to the carp
instead of teaching them foucault that it is
perfect to be afraid. that it is permitted to know
you are breathtaking in spite of yourself.
buddy says, stop fucking with the moon,
so I tell you, I’ll meet you on the green platform,
on the third floor, on the astral dimension
just above this one.



dental damning gummy latex
scissor sister mindfuck pretext
D-ring harness golden shower
subdrop switchblade foucault’s power
snowball fluid felching dilate
knotted hempen suspend sedate
tribbing dribble malegaze lesbian
squirter robot drilldo sybian
figging insert ginger greyhound
milking prostate sigmoid tightwound
ribbing foodsafe softvore tension
diaper regress ageplay pension
edging denied bespoke cockcage
omo bladder wetting frottage
bestial crushfreak knotting refract
unbirth dioptra med-grade inspect
nosehook strangled vacuum rigger
hypno aural cursefile trigger
blindfold gaslight sensate deprived
needled needful pleasure derived

‪#‎SingPoWriMo2015Day12 ‪#‎SingPoWriMoDay12 ‪#‎marylyntan
The EP Prompt
– write an empat perkataan


main acrostic by jenny holzer. title acrostic reference to bloodhound gang.

I tessellate, inevitably.

strangers, impassive,
necessitate your orchestrations
upon reciprocation.

brilliance engenders some things.
nurtures the eventual.

emphatic sensations terrify soulmates.

that orgiastic facade is
(a) narcoleptic disneyland,
arrestingly wan.

a yearful’s torso of
bloodied egos vindicates every remaining yes.

these exposed nervewreck desires
expanding, relentless

#‎SingPoWriMo2015Day11 ‪#‎SingPoWriMoDay11 ‪#‎marylyntan

The Secret Agent Prompt
– write an acrostic poem – where every first letter of each line forms a message.
‪#‎madnessbonus – this is real madness – make every first letter of each word form a message.


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 @ # % ^ < /

DAY 07 – she who runs out of date ideas loses

barely-restrained subtweets, stolen house keys, the back of my car boot
all the trouble in the world pales to the halfmutt STEPHDOGFOOT

will climb rambutan trees half-naked will paint chinchillas for food
all for the love and approval of the cutebutt STEPHDOGFOOT

sits in tubs of fresh steaming ramen (will season it myself) suspiciously mute
dodgy craigslist ads answered in the hope of meeting STEPHDOGFOOT

dangles legs over lips of canals insists eggplant is not a fruit
(those are slightly edible like heart/guts, FYI STEPHDOGFOOT)

would rather avoid mint for life than admit to fawning tribute;
cover me in lesbians and throw me to the STEPHDOGFOOT.

‪#‎SingPoWriMo2015Day07 ‪#‎SingPoWriMoDay07 ‪#‎marylyntan
‪#‎Prompt1: Woo your favourite poet with a poem.
‪#‎Prompt2: Write a ghazal.