Past // Present // Future

Each anticipated day arrives &
elides into the past,
as we wait,
           again,
but for what?

How long will it take
for the pattern to change?

When will the cycle end?

With no past the future
becomes a desert &
                  the desert grows,
surrounding us
                  with the slow
creeping
of midnight mist…

with no future
the present becomes a test

you will fail unless
                    you refuse
to fight against
the meaninglessness
& dance instead

with the absurdity

The City #2

The City street-lamps conspire to hide,
the cold shimmer of starlight from our eyes,

the stars we walk beneath but cannot see,
thinking only of what will never be.

The City is teeming with ice-
cream peddlers, vintage shops &
        chain stores;
           
                    the City
pours water warm as blood upon us
        & we just shrug;

the City
        defies Gaia
& we ignore her protestation.

The City is killing us

& we allow it to happen.

I want to burn it down to the fucking ground.

The City #1

Lost in the pressure of the Simulacra,
the strange among strangers
faces
of new buildings
                seeming
threatening,

weird & eerie.

Yet all the rest – or so
                        it seems –
of the animals in the City
are so at ease,
               but to me
the noise,
the fumes & traffic, tragic
neglected people forced to sleep
on the streets – “Sorry,
don’t have any change” –
& the oppressive cranes
declaring the domination
                                of Capital;

the hive-mind
blind to the mantic fury of
                            the lost
history buried beneath the streets
consume me.

The City disgusts me.

Desire & Idea

Forever out of reach
it exists as if,
            born blind
they presented you with
an audio description
of a visual medium;

permanent distance, something
            missing,
no way
of knowing
how to affect the movement.

The desire exists
but the idea resists,
a furious rebellion
against simplicity,
            insisting on
misunderstanding, infested
potential
& perpetual ambiguity,

like the painful birth of conjoined twins,
who grow to want nothing more than
to love & be loved,
                beautiful & ugly,

                            just like us.

Haunted

Bite off your tongue,
                spit out the blood
& say something more than
                any word ever could.

Seal the wound with white-hot metal
& stuff with wire wool, stifle
a scream & feel a weak
edge where laughter descends
into desperation or cruelty;

                ignore
the words that form & try to force
open your mouth.

Let no sound out.

& in silence
find the patience to discover
an unspoken secret;
the obscene foundation
of everything keeping us safe
                from what awaits within.

Waits like a swallowed stone
to kill or be expelled
from these bodies haunted
                by language:

a ritual sacrifice;
                necessary
price to be paid, ridiculous
offering made
to satiate the infinite
                & the horror it brings…

Open your mouth,
                let it all out:
without a tongue
                all sounds are one.