Going through the motions.
Terminally ill waiting for the last breath,
Or the not terminally ill
Awaiting the drone of death.
Working, eating, sleeping, breathing.
In the morning
Getting into the shoes or whatever,
Into the car or whatever
Into the office or whatever.
At night the couple turn over
After a bout of heavy breathing
For a sleeping pill.
Another night passes its hours
For another day to exhaust soon enough.
I watch the sun rise over the sea
And sink behind the hill.
Or is it the other way around?
It doesn't matter.
The view from the sixteenth
No longer makes me yearn for the life of birds
Which have been fogged out
And parodies of trees shifted
On to the roof of the multi-storey.
I look down the window
It more feels like
Eyes looking down
From a face hanging from the ceiling.
***
Penang, 2009-2010
