Primitive Thoughts

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Through the glass elevator,
Meditative, shooting high,
This is once Singapore,Malaysia;
The People’s discourteous wonder of Asia:
Silk Route, Highway, Timbuktu.

Streets with two names, coins with
Twin sides, work with two shifts
And on electronic lifts, two mirrors
On the two sides reflecting one camera
As two. Though that’s not unusual.

Dangerous drive, so that the tooters
Rushing you by can stick out their heads
And holler the obscenity which is
Most common, most tried, most predictable:
Thrilled at the window opened out at them.

Checking the expiry date of the amnesia pill
— Turning it from side to side
In the packet — I see her youthful eyes
Threaten to extinguish its fire as a trishawman
His adage — “Not for hire” — repents.

Perhaps tomorrow things will more really be
What they are they are today. A poster campaign
And the disappeared faces disappear
To appear in a new poster again. Life on the wall
Is more real for them now.

And then comes the winter and the
Nightly car races. Under enhanced lighting
You see but enhanced faces — and their unassuming smile
As they watch the race cars throb
Publicly turn down inability.



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