The Inaugural Issue

No End in Sight & other poems

Lawrence L. Ypil





I had a wand of wishes

when I was five. You want a tail?

I could make two. And teacups too.

But not the tea.


Betamax desire. I had a dress

you couldn’t see. Technicolor.

Ruby-slippered. There’s no place

like a mother’s mirror.


You want a daughter?

Is a broom without a head.

The dull sink sparkles

with a wave and some detergent.


Silverscreen falsetto. Antenna.

I could make you disappear

behind a backward dance. Rewind.

So close your eyes and swish.


Every wish deserved its mensch,

meaning its man, the neighbor

entering the house in afternoons

to watch the wigless witch’s legs go shimmer.



No End in Sight


When it came to the room,

we fixed it up. The nightmare locks.

The shiny watch. The idea


was to give one hand

and take away the other.

The guards would frisk our mother.


Her empty purse would keep

our father on the street.

I did a crummy job


of putting red tape on the floor.

Jamming the door with a lip.

Your wrists could breathe


beneath the manacles. I showed you

your picture when you were four

before the blindfold.


The idea was to sketch

a blueprint of ourselves

as brothers. Find


the flower. Endless parole

of summer. Then, the machine

announced your number.



An Honor, A Pleasure


The neighbor washed the kill

at the yard faucet. Fish and gill.

It flickered still.A silver fin in water.


We hadn’t been invited to the feast,

but didn’t complain. We craved the huge indoors,

who hungered under. We spelled the name of mourn.


We couldn’t tell if rich was what we wanted: apartment,

lumberjack, bordello, concubine.


The morning after was always

someplace else. Define the weather.


Bloody water.

What’s yours is mine. Maybe not.



Lawrence Ypil. ‘No End in Sight & other poems’. Queer Southeast Asia: a literary journal of transgressive art Vol. 1. no. 1, October 2016.