Joshua Ip
Without You
without you the moon is an empty cereal bowl.
without you Dog has no tail to chase.
without you a month of mondays, or a monday of
moon-dogs, mondays giving way to mondays
that segue into a weekend revue of mondays,
a monday matinee musical with an i-want song
about wanting more than mondays.
oh mondays.
through me they flow like groundwater
through the cavities of igneous rock.
leaving nothing behind but silica
and chalcedony for mondays,
without you, without you i scatter,
i, scatterbrain, i scat this free jazz
shoobedy-doobah-de-doop doop without, without...
without you i am always between one thing and another,
the calendars are always changing over in a new year,
without you the gates are agate and do not actually perform
the functions of a gate, that is, to open,
without you the dog barks with no voice,
plaintively wagging his non-tail, without you
the moon howls to the blue corn dog --
without you my tribes scatter to find water
in this dry and thirsty land.
The Girl Who Was Made Entirely of High-Quality Cocoa Products
Often I wonder at the making of you and yours,
Some hipster alchemist dripping molten lava
And cocoa butter into a mold’s contours
Or a sweet-toothed serial killer slash embalmer
Entombing a girl in the smoothest soil
Or shell. It makes a difference to the flavour
Whether emptiness was filled, or she was sealed
Within. Something about this is important,
But I’m waylaid by how the warmish swell
Of body heat is enough to melt your fondant
Façade. It is not, you say, it is room
Temperature and humidity, you are insistent-
ly right, for you were made that way, the rum-
as-right hell-raisin’ righteous in your richness,
accurate as rain and right as rhyme.
Your sweaty goodness. I say, a swallowing noise,
I am fond of you, i fondue you in time,
I dip my head to you, I dip, I will brown-nose,
To touch you is to come away with items
Of you on me. Soon you will be an impossible stain
To remove. Death to cats. My mouth an empty tomb.
without you the moon is an empty cereal bowl.
without you Dog has no tail to chase.
without you a month of mondays, or a monday of
moon-dogs, mondays giving way to mondays
that segue into a weekend revue of mondays,
a monday matinee musical with an i-want song
about wanting more than mondays.
oh mondays.
through me they flow like groundwater
through the cavities of igneous rock.
leaving nothing behind but silica
and chalcedony for mondays,
without you, without you i scatter,
i, scatterbrain, i scat this free jazz
shoobedy-doobah-de-doop doop without, without...
without you i am always between one thing and another,
the calendars are always changing over in a new year,
without you the gates are agate and do not actually perform
the functions of a gate, that is, to open,
without you the dog barks with no voice,
plaintively wagging his non-tail, without you
the moon howls to the blue corn dog --
without you my tribes scatter to find water
in this dry and thirsty land.
The Girl Who Was Made Entirely of High-Quality Cocoa Products
Often I wonder at the making of you and yours,
Some hipster alchemist dripping molten lava
And cocoa butter into a mold’s contours
Or a sweet-toothed serial killer slash embalmer
Entombing a girl in the smoothest soil
Or shell. It makes a difference to the flavour
Whether emptiness was filled, or she was sealed
Within. Something about this is important,
But I’m waylaid by how the warmish swell
Of body heat is enough to melt your fondant
Façade. It is not, you say, it is room
Temperature and humidity, you are insistent-
ly right, for you were made that way, the rum-
as-right hell-raisin’ righteous in your richness,
accurate as rain and right as rhyme.
Your sweaty goodness. I say, a swallowing noise,
I am fond of you, i fondue you in time,
I dip my head to you, I dip, I will brown-nose,
To touch you is to come away with items
Of you on me. Soon you will be an impossible stain
To remove. Death to cats. My mouth an empty tomb.
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Joshua Ip is an award-winning Singaporean poet, editor, and literary organiser. He has written two-and-a-half collections of poetry, edited five anthologies for Math Paper Press, and is working on a graphic novel. He is the founder of Sing Lit Station, a non-profit that runs multiple community initiatives, including SingPoWriMo, poetry.sg, Manuscript Bootcamp and several workshop groups. www.joshuaip.com
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