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By Wayne Mok
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Poetry

A folio celebrating play and performance within the queer South Asian experience

Poetry

You collected fallen petals from a rose

Poetry

Hear the chants.

Poetry

we shudder red

Poetry

i don’t quite believe in God but i believe in music

Poetry

“Between Fog Street and the Bakery” and “Father Sleeps”

Poetry

Banana blossoms
Their bruise-color a warning.

Poetry

“Portrait of EEEEEEEEEE” and “On Disappointments in Music”

Poetry

On my way home, I ask the sky to come down and keep me company

Poetry

莫道不銷魂 | Don’t say I’m not overcome with feeling.

Poetry

“Serenade” and “बहार / Spring”

Poetry

And what are we left
with without language?

Poetry

This is what I learned
the hard way to call precious.

Poetry

this was never going to be easy

Poetry

don’t block the mountains with windows
or walls, even

Interviews

Episode 1 of The Source

Poetry

“‘I love the smell of napalm…’: Remix” and “Live-Stream”

Poetry

I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.

Poetry

You are Rapunzel fresh out the tower.

Poetry

What good’s grief / that fails to earn resurrection?

Poetry

A folio celebrating play and performance within the queer South Asian experience

Poetry

“Serenade” and “बहार / Spring”

Poetry

You collected fallen petals from a rose

Poetry

And what are we left
with without language?

Poetry

Hear the chants.

Poetry

This is what I learned
the hard way to call precious.

Poetry

we shudder red

Poetry

this was never going to be easy

Poetry

i don’t quite believe in God but i believe in music

Poetry

don’t block the mountains with windows
or walls, even

Poetry

“Between Fog Street and the Bakery” and “Father Sleeps”

Interviews

Episode 1 of The Source

Poetry

Banana blossoms
Their bruise-color a warning.

Poetry

“‘I love the smell of napalm…’: Remix” and “Live-Stream”

Poetry

“Portrait of EEEEEEEEEE” and “On Disappointments in Music”

Poetry

I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.

Poetry

On my way home, I ask the sky to come down and keep me company

Poetry

You are Rapunzel fresh out the tower.

Poetry

莫道不銷魂 | Don’t say I’m not overcome with feeling.

Poetry

What good’s grief / that fails to earn resurrection?