february  2018

 

...every day behind the ha-ha mask it is the same

and every night I have no choice

 

but to kiss the one-eyed oracle

my tormentor and kinsman

 

my traitor who gazes with contemptuous relish

on all that I have been

 

the child who still scratches the ground

in search of love

 

who even now snatches at the shadows

for feelings that are clean

 

and so I have no choice

but to draw my tormentor’s breasts up between my lips

 

the hope, the ascent, the tenderness

covered with make-believe

 

with the ethos of the infinite child

the traitor within the ground

 

my body’s clean treachery

behind the mask, behind the kiss

 

those feelings caught in the earth’s shadow

the love that has no choice...

 

 

 

                 (ii)

 

...look, the ritual vice versa

has finally won

 

it is clearly a disturbing gift

contrary and courageous

 

to have spat out

the clockwise mind

 

and to have had the disfigured past

pulled from our spine

 

its myriads of glittering astrocytes

falling to the floor

 

over-flowing into rooms

filled with animated, gibbering tongues

 

it is exactly the courage needed

to dissect the last ever paradise

 

as death gazes out at space

and space gazes back at death

 

a final summit is reached

and these two curious siblings stand

 

as they have always stood, whispering

like scheming lovers

 

and neither the one nor the other

will ever be the first to relent...