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.

The Animal

To see and be the ugly things of life.

To know there is terror in the sublime.

To be
a biological organism,
a bipedal mammal
with opposable thumbs;
 
witness the animals as they come together
to gather round the fire
& make their greatest mistake as
they take the communication system
moulded from noises and turn it
into language:
                a feed-back loop into which members of the group
                will descend when
                they discover how
                to talk to themselves
                & not others;

necessary lie of grammar, to anchor
our respective first-person perspective  
it gave rise to the lie that is the “I”,
                the insistence
that there is something different inside of us.

Can you appreciate sensation: the feeling
of vibration;
the harmony of eternal energy
composing & flowing through us?

Is there hope to be discovered
                            of escape
from the day to day
after day after day
of feeling dull & repetitive
& dull &
the same?

“It is not how the world is that is mystical, but that it is”*

Wet leaves swim in the breeze;
everything is as it is, yet
nothing is ever how it seems:

As green falls to greet deep substance,
far above the breathing trees,
birds oscillate through waves unseen;

insects teem, mammals dream
& Gaia abounds with
collective recollections echoing

through space & time.

Ceaseless interaction,
constant inconstancy & change;  
the finitude that births infinity;

all that is beyond me, just as
there is an outer limit to all things,
beyond which others limits persist:
 
the world consists of what
does & does not exist.





* Ludwig Wittgenstein

The Cave

Those shadows on the cave wall, distorted,
            contorted,
grotesque & tall,
they aren’t shadows at all.
Only mutated shapes;
circus images permeating
            fluid;

another trick of a sick mind.

Don’t take it too seriously
            but if you
listen too closely to the sounds
they start to drift &
            float around
without direction, detached from meaning.

Don’t be ashamed
for acting from the purest of instincts:

fight or flight is joined by frozen
fright as well; belief is
            necessary
& to believe in what you see
is so natural it almost
seems like blasphemy not
            to just
let it happen.