Category: Poetry

We are now living in an open & reformed age, where / 愛 /ai/ [love] has become feeling without heart: 爱

what do we have? a hologram of blood / sanctimoniously held on a pedestal with too much pride to neglect.

the misty layer bears no forethought / of sorrow. it hovers over the / clearing and the stream, just as the / yawn of daylight scatters over / vines and fans of leaves.

Kindle our fury, keep us bubbling / in a wok of absurdity for too long / and nothing will astonish us anymore.

Like a loaf of bread in a birdcage you chase me and I run / like a sheet of beeswax rolled into a candle.

In the house that he built as / the 60s were turning I / find myself standing where I was / once a smart alec kid going / places who sort of looked down / on her parents who wanted the / life reached by climbing a stair / that began somewhere else

Child of Reagan, what if the Russian boogeyman / is my blood?

when I grow up I will be God / of Cooking, grow / up will be Saint of Gambling / be Tricks Expert, tough

By Nicholas Wong / Some people love like they believe the romantic / folklore about the moon, but they love too literally / from inside a spacesuit.

By Cheng Tim Tim / There are so many ways of breaking.