a familiar old place, almost my place, where i have been and will be again, burnt shop lots behind locked doors, false modesty while their secrets lie naked to the sky, the smoky temple of buddha and the faded goddess saraswati pictures clinging to the holy tree, thin old men on bicycles, rushing slowly, with unseeing eyes, bars spilling their customers like stoned maggots onto the roads, and the constantly gorgingtalkingmovingpeople
the broken graves, with mossy sunlight filtering through the pencil trees like the fingers of God, to touch and soothe, the inscriptions of love, etched into a place where no one comes, and yet it's therapeutic, we shall be like this once again, we shall eat the fresh fish on the new table cloth, while the cars line up and the rakish cook smokes a refreshing cigarette, while the skies leak a gentle rain of blessings upon us all, and the red lights are lit in the blue mansion to welcome the bats of luck.
through it all the wise ginger cat with the leonine halo sits proudly, smiling inscrutably....

for penang, august 18, 07