the book of entropy: 火宅無常

more like die-cry-hate

Anzac Day 2020

this year was silence,
red poppy in the sunrise.
did we remember?

the horror, the sacrifice.
a man-made futility.

Expectations

I wait for the search.
It never comes, revealing
the value of the

thing that was lost, or so we
are made to believe. I don't.

going to the ocean after quarantine

when I see you next,
I will be wiser from pain,
I will know your own.

to reach, always, for the shore--
to touch it for just a sigh.

Lies I Was Told As A Child

the world is all right
karma will get the bad ones
you can live sans fear

keep trying, keep trying, you
only have to fear yourself

missives from the viral years

is it all for naught?
the world turns greyer each day
weakening like smoke

I can hear the storm coming;
I can see their boredom rise.

novel

awake at sunrise
in a world made alien
remote, sad, anxious
wide awake as disease creeps
awake even when it sleeps

quiet catastrophes

we expected fire
brimstone, noise louder than war
light, sound, motion, tears

nobody told us the end
would be echoed silence...lonely.

renewed

when the world has stopped
time becomes an illusion
humans all on pause

nature retakes the cities
the sky ablaze; new colours

untitled 0604

just "whatever".
just one word, four syllables.
a microcosm.

an inifinity of null
wrapped in dull everythingness.

The Indian Summer of Y2K14

why does summer not
wane? why do the nights not cool?
the Sun's empire and

her tyranny; autumn left
still, waiting into April.

pages of my mind
curling in merciless heat,
(where has my heart gone?)

all the March-born babies are
this year, summer's bairns: hale, bright.