Poem: Singapore Morning

Sandwiched between pipe-embroidered ceiling and shiny floor,
I have a coffee and eggs for breakfast underground in Singapore,
muzak vibrates through the air-conditioned atmos,
suffocating consumption among the franchised dross.

Haven from asphalt shimmered steaming heat,
From steel roach road rage trumpet bleats,
Muzak rattle strangely soothes the soul,
Outside, reality only reality to us does dole.

Escape to a dungeon of neon and processed air,
Outside and inside the barrenness laid bare,
The mind aches at the spirit’s sadness,
Think write act, create, the medicine to this madness.

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