for Sean Francis Han
Good evening Sean,
You are Mr Torrance tonight while the jazz topiaries remain animated. This is my Waiting Room, where your Sazerac endures depletion, and dementia persists as a somber fidelity scratching with reverb on the existential vinyl player. In heaven, everything is fine. The ampules in your suit contain the static from New Hampshire 0.2 amperes each, enough to power the generators of Basinski’s mental caverns. Were there any calls? Or only anodyne phrases, a tap on the shoulder, or the residual bloodstone fragments as an obol substitute in the ballroom coffers of the poling ferry? The waiters are still discreet and the jiggers of brandy never watered. The area a solitary radian northeast of Lacan’s Borromean Knot had the sinthome discharge measuring a monopod becquerel, sounding an empty diner approximately two parsecs within the snake eyes of Ophiuchus. These are clouds of pencil shavings as an intrusion of consonant drones, decibels away, described as a Mach number nostalgia living behind the Elysian hedgerows.The catalysis is your nostrovia a universe to the nihilist bathtub. I have heard these apparatus before, wondering if you were blonde while it was still raining.
Who’s the dead painter, I hear you ask?
The neoclassical caretaker of Waldorf-Astoria hung as the world is in a convex orbit around him and the elusive sublime.
Iain Lim Jun Rui is a Mass Communications diploma graduate from Ngee Ann Polytechnic and an aspiring poet and filmmaker. He is a winner of the Love Poetry Competition (piece forthcoming in Love at the Gallery anthology) and finalist in the National Poetry Competition 2017 organised by Poetry Festival Singapore. He is published in the ASINGBOL anthology and SingPoWriMo 2016: The Anthology, and has upcoming works in SingPoWriMo 2017: The Anthology, The Utama Review and Twin Cities anthology.