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All poems © 1999 - 2003 Chris Tse.
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SELLING OUT

I’m like a guitar
running off with a banjo,

but now I’ve given up
suffocation via artform.

I turned this music
into paper things

that won’t fly, with winges
too heavy and burdened

by American spelling
and coloured notebooks.

He told me that addiction
is the most wicked of fictions,

so I stood my ground
in his pitch black voice

and wrote songs they could
pull apart for radio

until someone said
it wasn’t worth the sex

to rhyme love with above
over a hip hop beat.