Why can’t we be
ii. Summer Missionaries (Fanling 粉嶺)
Watching like a cat
through the shadow of a doubt,
how could she know
her delicate freckles shiver on her cheeks
when Elder Taylor
and Elder Love
speak through the heat
of their beautiful,
beautiful, bearded Jesus Christ?
iii. Capped Crusader . . .
There at the lights
Batman holds hands
with his anxious,
No body seems to mind the turd in Saturday . . .
v. From a Between-season
Still Winter sun:
a Painted Lady spins in circles
of itself each insistent, flowering
bush, warming — unleashed —
with starbursts of butterflight
stone cold blood.
And, where a kangaroo rots . . .
. . . blowflies dance in the raw.
vii. Vic Market Limbo
louder than their names
like beer bottles
against the in-your-face stench
of the bins.
viii. Why I Am Not a Christian
I only want to live once
and for all.
Crimson rosellas —
they hit the glass at breakneck
breakneck speed, dead
for ever in an instant lasting
x. The Firm Grasp (Hands on the Ropes)
They call it a dream
because you can’t hold on
to any of it, and although
you are “there”, widely awake,
how much can you make it
your own? Very little.
Life escapes you, at once,
in every instant, unless,
somehow, you allow it to touch you
in all your force —
xi. Language Barrier (Human Passions)
I could see he was making a move towards me
so turned off at the cross-roads.
I didn’t speak his body-language.
(Funny how we can’t stand silence,
specially when it happens in a human being
close to us.)
xiii. The Sky is Blue. So is Murder
How far do we have to go before we come back to life again?
Photograph by Yu Jian