january 2022

                         (i)

…there is only one terror at the heart of humankind

only one indecipherable agony

that to become a god

we must first die a multitude of deaths

that to understand everything

we first must become everything

the universe incarnate

impregnated with magnitude

with these ever-tightening circles

that load absurdity high onto our backs

and push us out to walk the streets

to dream and weep in doorways

a swaggering, naked sack of varicose flesh

that calls itself divine

the first, agonising circle complete

the incarnate terror that overrides reason

that easily perfects the winds

the fashion, the barbarity, the idols

these mountains growing across our backs

their magnitude truly crushing…

 

 

 

                      (ii)

…go, go run and headbutt the stones 

go kneel and pray into the cracks in the earth

your omens and spells, your conspiracies

come, spit them even deeper than before

your parallel lies for everything 

this, your tempting schizophrenia

for when they eat their own faeces 

even the dead will dance

so come, open your veins 

and watch as your parallel blood

runs contagion down into the cracks

of an unprepared world

come, open your skull 

and watch your demons as they piss on your brain

as they lick their faeces

and invite you to dance

however, notice the way they grin at you 

and how, with glee, they unwrap the unreal

tempting you, yet again, to step out 

to sing and dance even deeper than before…

 

 

                                 (iii)

…always, when I work, it is alone

at the very edge of a cliff

the only place where I am truly happy

for only here do I become synonymous

with this life’s blinding vertigo

synonymous even with death

because the precipice knows 

it knows and rises with stealth

yearning for sacrifice 

for those, like me, to plummet

into its blue dust

into these mists streaked with couplets

blank and foreboding

this one, blind place of sheer joy

where words become strangers

even holes in the air

this synonymous gift

an offering, a token

falling high above this world

threads of verses 

left to find themselves…

 

 

 

                           (iv)

…define this droplet, this pin-point earth

and you will have a necklace of maybes

crows of dried mucus

stuck to your fingers

for it is only when we all share

the same insanity

that we dare call ourselves sane

and peeling away the skin from your feet

is enough to reveal

the tell-tale limits to your humanity

this talkative, loud coincidence

caught on the tip of a mere pin

minds like droplets

sanity stuck to our fingers

our necks draped in maybes

in the green blood of fear

this unnerving test of existence

hidden by a few thin layers of skin

and that old, contentious naming word

still waiting to be defined…