1 New Poem

Foot Shuffles

There goes again the scattered picture whims
to four corners and six seas,
a disappointed numbing when you lack
a still part of evening time to get lost
between and come undone from beer
bottle cap to the closing line.

I had a habit of not joining
thought the inconvenience too much and
too penetrating for all of that;

But you work on me like
anxiety pills, dissolved in water,
crisply drunk to drive out
concrete memories and be careful
of ringing bells across dust
and yard fronts,

Where we could have closed some
time ago, walking through port lines
touching in the impermanence, Singapore
transit, that our heat makes on screen.