chalked-up faces and powdered cheeks,

(under it all, you wouldn't know if a tear was falling)

fancy language,

quirky hand signals that are meant to mean things to certain people

(but the message gets lost)

lovelorn singers hold rose petals and thorns,

(or maybe something else.)

their whispers seep through the radio speaker,

preaching peace, (i can't tell, i can't see)

every night is longer, tomorrow is a sad affair.

where is the love?

words come in drips and dribbles,

across marble tables

served on gold-plated wooden plaaters,

sipped,

let's pretend it's wine

ignore the dead and dying, and the explosions and smears of dark red rouge (is that blood?) on your cheeks,

tv is blaring,

but no one hears it,

just meaningless sounds and large images splashed across blank sets,

take it in, it's just a dream, take it in

newspapers are still read,

but not really understood,

official letters are sent,

poor clerk,

doesn't know what he's doing,

just stamps them,

and scrawls symbols onto slate,

words become lines and dots and squiggles,

they have lost their meaning,

meanings are bent and twisted to our advantage,

THB that the English language is highly flexible. we now open this meeting. typo error. speelcheck. microsoft word.

published over and over again

87, 88 and 9

phrases are coined and minted,

packaged and sold,

or dried and preserved.

i like my coffee with milk.

words, are just lines,

meaningless,

fluttering,

flitting,

dying and fading

as the wet ink is carried

away by the wind,

is smudged across hands wanting to get more marks,

words,

are not words or phrases or essays,

because the candles have been blown out.

sorry, we're closed now, do come back later

and inside, the press prints jargon

calls it news,

and we sip it, drop by drop,

like wine,

and laugh, pretending we know

our hands are bloody

we cover our ears and listen,

with chalked-up faces and powdered cheeks.

tomorrow is a sad affair,

and you don't even see a storm coming.

--By Yue Lin.

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