The frayed remains of two daydream decades
listlessly slides glass beads across
are so delicate that they break
& the shards are lost to the permanence of
the day walks away toward the West as
each sunset colour elides the other,
a blue creeping twilight
& shrouded moon
a widower leaves flowers
at the grave of a secret lover.
Ignorant of all but their game,
the frayed remains
see nothing dimly through broken glass,
in a present moment
empty of all content:
with hollow bones.
Somehow, at 6 a.m,
or whenever it is
that the Sun returns again,
the taste & the smell
of the air hiting at the back
of my throat, always
fills me with hope.
So bored of throwing stones
around the glass house of consciousness;
of exalting or bemoaning
Too many words already written &
even more waiting to arrive,
so why continue to
Is it only to kill the time,
or find some way to bridge
the vast divide
between us all?
Or maybe a failed attempt to deny
that the Rise is really the Fall;
there will never be a way to
& the words will continue regardless,
unmoved by constant confusion & doubt.
Is belief in
the sentiment of love & of
a contradiction between
singular & universal:
must one sacrifice the other
is the distinction no more than
a mistaken understanding?
To what extent
are the things that we say & do
beyond our control?
the choice to say “No”
is always present,
profound dependency upon others*,
how can biological compulsion
override the tide of cause & effect:
how can the immaterial
change the course of material consequence?
& do these simple questions
we are forced to exist.
* Simone de Beauvoir – Pyrrhus and Cinéas
I am a person
from my creative capacity;
from my species-being;
labouring only to survive
& increase the size of someone else’s
already obscene amount of wealth.
I need to break,
need to escape
from the endless imposition
of regulation upon my body;
remorselessly repetitive demands
valuing my life
according to the demands
Time is alive & so am I,
& we both deserve our freedom.
I don’t want to trade my daylight
just to create surplus value,
I want to waste time on my own terms;
I want to waste my time
So when the moment arrives I’ll be there;
& joyfully destroying
what should always have been ours,
before the perversions of power &
stole it from us.
Then as the old world dies & the new one is born,
I will scream:
“Ni patrie, Ni Patron!”