her hitler hairdo.

her hitler hairdo.

I am Ave, an overworked underappreciated Law undergrad from Singapore. My blog is linked at the top of this main page. You must excuse the bareness of the layout - function over form, as the Bauhaus men put it. (Disregarding the fact that form itself is one such function.) And yes, the pink has been changed to something asexual.

I write poetry when I feel - many people do, actually - and I feel most when emotions are extreme. For censorship purposes, I shall withhold my list of such extreme emotions. This collection of my poetry dates back two years since I started writing properly. You will frequently come across lists upon lists of random yet related words. They are an everpresent reminder that I must one day know what they are to be properly called, in a focal literary sense.

But until then, I present to you Her Hitler Hairdo, and pray that you will be as destabilized reading my work as I was writing it.

Name: ave

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The most recent being:

Sonnet to Golgotha

The face that throbs with red abandoned heat
With smooth green can of steel, chrome luxury
Your eyes white dancing girls that admonish
My small red window, yours are clean as teeth

Papers, books, words and endless ink
Fly like thoughts suspended in this room
Your hands are small and warm like sausages
My body overflowing in this cell

The polythene that covers threatens to burn
This smoke and malt, tobacco in its home
White torso and white suit deliciously
When hunger crashes, lit profanity

Your scraps my bane, your wooden mouth my store
Of cotton so inadequate and poor
But luxury whets and it wets my parched throat
With sore abandon, Golgotha, you are mine

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