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| Chungking Express Art |
She lip-reads her swift murders,
In urban-drenched neon monologues,
Fractured day dream sequences.
She sketches boarding passes on a tissue paper
Later thrown away, unread,
Melting in the midnight monsoon.
She sleepwalks in vindaloo alleys,
Concealed and armed by wigs and stilettos,
Tipsy with chaos, solitary and morbid deadlines.
Like the poisoned city she breathes,
She is livid, resigned and, cruel.
He reads stale news standing by the night bar,
Expectant, coffee simmering in the paper cup,
Talking nonsense to the pay phone.
He waits for the tired crowds to thin.
Blur finally descends into clarity at three a.m.
Bereft, he seethes from pineapple cuts.
He mutters long passwords about 10,000 iterations.
Then he remembers his apartment but quickly forgets
The unlocked door, inviting officious strangers.
Night prowls, pallid and somnolent.
Restive, penitent over frustrated coitus,
He flicks cigarette ashes to the gutters.
Like the carnal wasteland he inhabits,
He is turgid, impatient and wide awake.
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