I often wondered if any screening was a sublime cut to an audience undefined, quiet as a rose or the sea state, the peri-acoustics and three word flashes on the screen that embodies a submerged singularity; is it a calm elemental waft through the reefs in an empty cinema?
It is a flimsy shuffle of worn cards by a black man’s hands and the English-accented lectures hovering over the projectors and the speakers, but this can’t be a single screen; and thus I have fulfilled my role as the audience gazing into the drizzle on the tundra.
What am I doing staring at this cold projection as the cliff is spilling its rustic faces onto me?
The silent trod the creeping orchestra and the heat of the 78 frame devil and its redness the 70s rock music this pink octopus fish organic while the G-clamps are turning the burettes and sad seismometers are on the leaves of these faux distinctions.
Are these plumes or the smog of the tarot volcano?
This obsidian chamber will unravel with time, as magma is on the fourteen junks half-submerged in the sulphur fumes.
Awarded samples later and the scrotum commissioner is gibberish to an igneous rock is my kind of absurd.
This is Serpent Rain.
But these orange words mean nothing to me.
Foucault is dispensing caramel on a croquembouche while his pendulum is frozen stiff in Amundsen-Scott station.
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.