S21 (12:50PM)
crimson-splattered walls
strained notes of the dead
the wire, the heat of the wire
301,52, 88. cell. cell. cell.
"it's the end of the road, the end of justice"
here they lay now
duality in the photographs
gelatin-coated mourning
black blood. black eyes,
the ghost of a barbed-wire snare
it's veiny fingers, silent gait
each eye stares back
a schoolyard
eighteen-month survival plea.
(s21 from the hotel rooftop-
laminated windows,
now-timid blood stains,
fear-drenched courtyard,
rubble. ancestral cries.
9pm sets in)
***
TUOL TOM PONG, POST-DREAMING (midday)
a sweet aroma-
bitter ginger
trepidant elevator clangs
a polluted canal-
rest here
simple place I created
a subtle cheer-
the stadium
in dreams, sand fills the bed
a dining room-
melancholy vacancy
eat rice for brekky
a chandelier-
match lit
the gold melts
slumbering.
***
FROM THE ROOFTOP
irregularity in the days;
workshop, dip-dye mango, durian ice-cream
nights briefly cyclical;
umber roof-top, Roman candle, mosquito
peach, dripping daintily
city skyline
lights, hazily in view
adjust the viewfinder, an old camera
the final market cart parked
gathered at tables, "cards at Number 72"
the smell of a canal
laundromat, just closed
four corner shops a block;
cracks worn so deeply in each woman's face
and yet, atop the roof we sit
pale skin, a floral dress, skateboards, a notebook
bumbling middle class
anglo-cised
fickle on their feet
so much to know, to know
a faut line- a sacred mountain