From “Ungovernable Bodies”

 

 

Matt, February 16, 2007 (Fri), his place, next day American Folk Art Museum

 

 

in anhedonia                           i hide an anon

 

catatonic dreams                    mace c-data on stir

 

of kittens in ovens                  o tens of tin knives

 

alogia wilderness                    loading a wireless                   

 

spandex                                     expands

 

the jerk chickun                     the Jurchen kick

 

genetically mute                     met in glutey lace

 

the lucky allele                        all they eke and cull

 

 

not martin ramírez                nor trim ez martian

 

pregnancy stress or                cypresses n grantor

 

cannabis use                            e-scan bi a sun           

 

committed ‘im                        mode mic mitt

 

to institutions                         on its tot in situ

 

and also art                              raton as lad

 

 

after Yeow Kai Chai

Andy, May 27, 2007 (Sun), Mr. Black

 

 

The tunnel has been closed for some time now,

but a claw of panthers find their cast-iron steps

from daylight street to basement dungeon

to suffer the flail of ecstasy. Mr. Conductor, 

 

when will train service begin, the velvet

rope that ties one to all harmonically?

The Rose Boy is antsy. The brick arches

jump from toe to toe, making an entrance

 

for the Black Detective with a blank map.

He does not come in the name of the law,

but with a nose ring that glints in the dark.

 

Follow him! Father has been buried here

for far too long. We will exhume his bones

and beat a retreat playfully with the femur.

 

after Yeow Kai Chai

Mike, June 22, 2007 (Fri), Urge, then my place

 

 

Half-time. Hyphenated adjectives.

Hefted to the edge. Holy shit!

Half-boiled eggs. High and low. 

Ho, ho, ho, the phone clock rhymes.

 

Borderlands half-awake. Hot takes

on a hairy chest but not overly so. 

History. Handfuls of old chestnuts.

Half-Black, half-Irish, half-Scottish.

 

Hackers of the world, unite haply!

Hundreds of centaurs and unicorns,

wholesome as Angel, hip as River.

 

Half-life only is my life, haiku-like,

compromised, lukewarm, judas,

but, hey, I’m uncut too, hallelujah!

Jee Leong Koh is the author of Steep Tea (Carcanet), named a Best Book of the Year by UK's Financial Times and a Finalist by Lambda Literary in the US. He has published four other books of poems, a volume of essays, and a collection of zuihitsu. His work has been translated into Japanese, Chinese, Malay, Vietnamese, Spanish, Russian, and Latvian. His latest book is a work of hybrid fiction, titled Snow at 5 PM: Translations of an insignificant Japanese poet (Gaudy Boy LLC). Originally from Singapore, he lives in New York City, where he heads the literary non-profit Singapore Unbound. singaporeunbound.org