constitution

The part of the living that is dead
Drained of colour, lifeless rotting on the limb
Could be the key, so what happens next?
We kill the vein that pumps our curiosity
For want of realization
Numb, suffocated, accepting concentration of the meaning prescribed
The protocol must be observed
Sacramental
Mythic faux tradition grafted onto this body
Grand Parasitic Farce repeated to grind tragedy into the fresh rain dirt
To lay, nourished, untended, and breeding bitter fruit soon to fall again
The sweet rotting display that won’t reconcile with your constitution
So we perform again, constricting the arteries of this heart with hope
Above and beyond observation of evidence
We wash our feet, our hands our face
This time, could this operation, sustain the edifice; give it flesh, muscle, life and build our future?
Whether playing physicians, dramatists, cultivators, all we want is for this tourniquet faith we tie to come good.

t3

Meaning doesn’t have to be complex
Happiness is not a competition for sophisticates
These shining stars, constellations in our souls
Are simple, waiting patiently for us to make night fall
To bring our universe into view
The gifts we give are reminders when our smiles break
That once we chose to love and we will again
Where the wild things are, is everywhere, and yet desire seems tamed
Like a caged aberration
But this world we explore will erode the pride of cages and baptize us
In joyous vulnerable humility
This is the promise incubated within

untitled

Tenderness, touching tip to tip, dripping against
Feet on the ground, head inside, sheltered organism
Hands pressing cold stone wall, devouring new air to replace that expended
Energizing motion forward, surfaces scratched and wet generating friction
Awkward, happy; our insignia proud in flesh, the marks we make lasting beneath the surface, this healing grinds and glides in slick unison, our performance, our tribute leaving memory in the muscles.

Flesh mind recollection of the sentiment that surpasses reflex, touches me in the most delicate places, 5 AM half sleep frustration cut through with the thought , our embrace, our release, our departure point, the distance maintained, By holding the dignity of silence, shining proud, do we miss the passion of risk?

When the beats rained we reveled in the twist, without worry of what it meant, with the legacy of time spend, weightless in the pull of the break,

This cloth we fashioned hugs our curves and draws out the beauty your smile threatened to outshine, By half moon we cast a shadow, sensuous outline.

ritual

Metal rings persisting, lights flicker in the dust, flames accompany the fever;
We move to the shadow and back, bodies bumping as others sleep
Ritual commanded by skin and material, speaks lifelines through these spaces
Standing in the mix of sweat and sharp smiles, taste of it here fermenting, Lamenting, Celebrating, Praising, the Ashes and rising cloud, under these stars;
Each one a soul ascending, and fading back into the tapestry of blue,
As light blooms and as old replaces old still looking new
The born who know it and those still to learn, labour to love within this realm, as their moments pass; dirt underfoot, possibility overhead, with history within and without, all around,and our hot salty breath, on each others faces, certain proof of this being.

big man

Riding Rough Roads to the centre and back again
With the questions hanging
Is this what revolution was fought for?
What a whole people went to war for?
To fracture, to split, to self-destruct, kill, mutilate, torture?
Allowing vengeance and hate to tear apart the fabric of this community
What do flags and uniforms mean to the dead, exiled or hungry?
Can empty words clothe them?
Can bullets feed them?
And if they perish will they come when you need them?
Exploitation, indoctrination and division might elevate positions
But when you ascend, no longer to pretend, but holding the throne
What will you rule?
A sea of blood and you all alone
With your illusions to comfort you…your medals and stripes, your crucifix
The willing deception of visitors, of adulation shown, at veiled gunpoint
The perception of privilege, of rank, of tone, left redundant
Except in your vicinity, bigger man fed off the tribute of forced loyalty
Sustained by the myth of liberation from slavery
But now you’re the master, and you keep trading, shifting, hiding, now parading
To maintain prominence, brutal dominance standing proud on foundations of fear
But fear is soluble and when the tides of unity wash again
Fear will dilute and transform
And you’ll find yourself leading an imaginary convoy to the rivers edge searching for the safety so long suppressed
And now reconstituted, distributed, far from your solitude
Now with your finery torn and sodden, corruption exposed
Can you look the people who used to call you their own, in the eye, and ask for forgiveness?

Fukishima

We traded gods and insults until we couldn’t tell them apart, Waiting for the zeitgeist when the scorched earth would suffice as foundation for our temples of steel and glass; our crucibles of lethal arrogance. The demise we secured for ourselves in the name of fuelling progress speaks now in divine tongues, even as we lament and name it senseless; humanity devouring itself raw, windswept, drowned, irradiated, atrocity of hubris