The Body, Mind, & Lies

Although the body & mind
can be conceptualised
as distinct
they are inextricably linked.

The body gives expression
to the mind’s longing,
just as flowers express colour
as a means to birth others.

The body,
& therefore the mind,
will always find a way to take
the path of least resistance,

& belongs entirely to causation;
to the eternal unfolding of consequence
in which chance & predetermination
somehow co-exist.

The mind must decide how to live with this:
knowing that our autonomy is that
of autumn leaves…

So we lie to ourselves
because no one else
can carry this burden for us.

This is not wisdom.

It is observation
as sutures to a wounded conscience.

It is conscience
as consequence of impotent revenge,

& impotence
as unconscious attempt to make amends.

So, don’t let these words fool you:
I know nothing about Truth.

I know only what occurs within me
as I play my small role in eternity.

Acceptance as Defiance

Thought & image blend with emotion,
creating a weird creature
of our own creation,
& then
we attempt to control this creature
with language, but the wild horses
of desire,
of impulse & sensation,
cannot be tamed by satiation
or speech.

We must accept the existence
of an empty space,
the place
where we exist;
the solitude
that will always be with us,
& that can not be filled
by consumption;
by that
which consoles & poisons
in equal measure.

Nothing can save us
unless we shred instinct
& learn to forgive,
& to accept,
that sometimes we are scared
& sometimes lonely;
sometimes hurt &
sometimes just horny;

that sometimes
we are nothing more
than another animal,
born of a capricious mother
& a vast,
indifferent father,

& that all we really seek
is comfort
& some answers
to our never-ending questions,
& that these motivations
are in conflict with each other.

But acceptance is not giving up:
acceptance is defiance.


“We have too much to gain from the gods, and this is why they fail to love us…” – John Burnside

We once found a word we've now forgotten,
explaining a concept that drifted away
        like vapour
            & left us,
in the same way
that everything
        eventually must
            We were dreaming
about perfect expressions of language,
about harmony between anguish
        & affirmation;
for what can never be achieved:
a gift from the gods that may or may not
a gift
of significance & meaning.

A meaning made
like a statue of clay
we leave out in the rain:
a gesture of defiance
we know in advance
        will not last,
            & yet
                doing it anyway.

Whether any god exists is
            don't listen,
because they can't:

perfect language does not exist.



Both of us a shifting infinity
of confusion in constant collusion,
    fusing together
the precise moment
we're severed;

there's a small space between your face
& mine when we kiss…

& when we speak
invisible thoughts distort
& twist our words, so
that we'll never completely know
the other
                & love
will never help us escape
from the confines of our minds:

we will always be

despite it all,
the sleepless nights
born of petty fights &
the blood-shot eyes too tired
to cry any more;
regardless of every moment
we feel slipping away,
        hopelessly lost…

even though we know
it can be so fucking ugly sometimes,
nothing can change the fact
that there's such incredible purity
to the beauty
of this:

today I woke earlier than usual,
with nowhere to be &
nothing to do
but lay down next to you,
deep in animal heat,
to the persistent rhythm
of our synchronised breathing…