"...Something inevitable about the coming dawn"
you slur as we stumble out, away from industrial
thrum of strobe and speaker, exhausted, withdrawn
to quieter spaces. I secretly marvel at the proverbial
loosening of your poetic tongue through the fire
of drink in your throat, your truth. Too late we sought
to sing of life - poor substitute for life itself - mire-
d In staccato sounds of transcendental bliss we bought.


This forsaken curb is where we'll make our home
awhile, drowning numbness in old wine of evening
as neon lights reflect our souls through grimy foam
of yesterday's footprints washed out of the flooring,
clinging to this violet shroud of night with bate-
d breath. The earth revolves slowly while we wait.

Tse Hao Guang is reading Eng Lit and is not yet sick of it, which is always a good sign. He writes post-digital anti-romantic lyric. His poetry has appeared in Ceriph, the anthology Coast, and QLRS. He hopes to squeeze a chapbook out sometime this year.