march 2017

 

                              (i)

 

...as long as this murky theocracy of words remains

I can breathe freely

 

even watch the blue dot of nowhere

recede down the raven’s throat

 

this obscure passion for darkness

an everlasting freefall

 

‘though, for the moment, I am restrained

there are mouths hissing inside my head

 

calling for love’s defiance

for no thought wants to be the first

 

to seize the raven

or challenge the frozen calligraphy in its eyes

 

so instead I tease out these threads of light

from the illicit spaces that remain

 

hoping they can survive the mind’s intensity

the scrutiny hissing between our ears

 

a logic that, for a coin placed on the tongue

rips the world from its axis

 

and leaves me madly

raking dead words from my hair...

 

 

 

                               (ii)

 

...of all the waiting this fearful passion is the worst

the melting icons, the falling planets

 

and the myriads of dull uncertainties

that somehow are supposed to be funny

 

but nothing, nothing is gratis

there are other worlds beyond the walls

 

and they all betray the same insistent need

to welcome some priceless, narcotic universe

 

whose treasures are set to overwhelm the earth’s imagination

although maybe it is simply the angst

 

of finally apprehending raw emptiness

the cavern full of vast demons

 

who clamber across piles of white teeth

and pull living viscera from their mouths

 

it is the empty click of time’s escapement

to swallow in a few seconds a lifetime of years

 

because all that will ever be

will be the borrowed remnants of yesterday

 

the iconic demons, the uncertain planets

the world of vast tomorrows

 

where nothing, nothing is gratis...

 

 

 

                      (iii)

 

...again I am enthralled by the dissonance of great minds

by destinies clearly not my own

 

by mementoes, pearls

souvenirs from some heaven

 

it is a largess in which I can find

neither myself nor my world

 

for I live within a marbled forest

pulled by fruitless memories

 

quips, meritocracies, elites

all trying to reach out and touch my soul

 

with the dark generosity of overpowering wealth

the one irreversible, iron dissonance

 

that masquerades as destiny

a mixture clearly not my own

 

the white forest which first gave me life

became by default the timeless rumour in my blood

 

the very breath which I still can breathe

strange words that feel nothing but panic

 

as stones turn into thoughts

and the sky is left masking the sky...