february 2017
(i)
...across the table, each night, a sulphurous face
invites me to join the well-wishers
it even winks in my direction
and nods its approval
yet defiantly I clench my mind
unprepared as I am to grimace my part
this act full of hazardous intent
an acid that would doubtlessly dissolve my entire person
for how can I ever forget
that I was once born alone
fatherless, motherless
just littered, dropped on sacred ground
and left beside the road to decipher my own existence
alone with reality stuffed into my mouth
so please do not expect me to show obedience
to the stench of birth
or to any montage of well-wishing saints
who, with their sulphurous, yellow breath
inflame and then suck my body dry
and so my grimace stands
a part of my undissolved personality
I am, I suppose, the serious fugitive
the thief with hazardous intent
whose hands have, for years, been clenched in rebellion...
(ii)
...like dry leaves crowding the gutters
everyone knows the way to the underworld
the harsh, crimson vortex
that feeds on memory
on the ash of faces
this immense, devouring silence
that treads and marks the universe
that shows to all its impeccable hostility
to what could well be the last few spoken words
crowding the gutters
these hellish, wild, delirious psyches
being eaten by fire
as the first heavy drops of rain
smack the leaves
high above the universe
it is indeed a harsh, devouring thunder
this oppressive certainty
of only ever having been
some pointless excrement of creation
a simple error on a page
of tumultuous dreams
and all that was memorable and good
consumed by the first strike of lightning...
(iii)
...often, all along the infinite boundary
there are these whispers of the changeling
the shoreline where rocks articulate chaos and bones
and, of course, these ever-so timely bastards
emerging upright from the surf
humans who roar with joy
because they hold behind their eyes
the seething malfeasance of a million predators
celebrities who, with perfect teeth
cheat each and every foetus of its ego
whose whispers seem to burst with immortality
with some fabulous rendition of the truth
and yet rising from the sand
come the many hands of the dead
and one very special changeling
who engraves the names of god on its faeces
all along the infinite boundary
the ocean’s brutal, grotesque choreography
the one threat that decides the fate of all
the roar behind the glass...