Sunday, 17 April 2016

like a dervish spinning with the stars shaking in the dark
breaking through your salt circles 
attentive to what the body knows.
you need not shed your skin or beg.
" love is the opposite of gravity", someone once said. 

i meant it.

of them all. three

on being possessed

shadows beckon the amber light dancing arias across their greedy skin.
white sage burns and burns unable to rid my heart of it's hauntings.
it's ghosts.
and the sword i swallowed just catches in my throat from time to time
on the days i almost sing.





under dust and dirt, all this

i guess i would be a strange place to bury any kind of treasure. still, a few have done it. planted their gold deep in this house of music where evolution and regression are witnessed on a daily basis. places among the tiny ruins caused by damage done before, but where growth occurs ripping through the tangle of crossed wires and the pre-made blueprints they had thought i would measure up to with passionate indifference. you see my shadows but even they change depending on the way the light shines. perhaps the way emerges when we realise that we're all haunted. haunted, but not doomed. how can we be doomed when we each hold the key to doors already unclosed? so, like a book you open me. you open me because i let you. because you come in my sleep when i sing in prayers laced with the scent of the night's own hunger. your skin i will paint with fingers. decorate with X. and show you how it happens so slow, the blossoming.. and yet it happens...





shape shifting

the night
amplifies the quiet noises
where nothing
only my certainty falters
and i swim through stars
too big for you to swallow.
dear t,

for the gift of being able to physically hold my younger self,
for placing a mirror between you and I and excavating what's there,
for birthing a book of hymns that makes my edges less solid,

'thank you'
isn't big enough.




"there was earth inside them, and they dug"
~ paul celan


stars too, I think.

x







Wednesday, 30 March 2016

a dance. the moon in moderation. moving blood and tides. the choice isn't yours to make. but maybe i'll love you sideways. "show me", i said. and you did. breathe real slow. say not a word. piece by piece i'll build you. sing you clear as day. i'm crawling walls you don't see. blood red fingers. bruised knees. circle me with your five senses and then some. and break all over me.

Sunday, 27 March 2016

accidental excavations

fallen to the floor the mandalas you rocked and spun on your hips. now you hold still and undone in the centre listening to more than moving mouths spilling more or less than what they want to say. a kindness complicated by the anonymous shifts and overlaps of tangled heartstrings and the interlocking rings of the coronas of our lives expanding. always the business of feeding the fire, burning and rising, begging the dark to come because there are things that do not sleep, but slip into the cracks to break loose and shatter the refuge found in disguise that only turns you into an echo of yourself like a lingering presence you can't quite touch. a summons to revel in your own electric storms crashing white...

Friday, 25 March 2016

*

moving
in thirty seven directions at once.
 
leaking light
into no perceivable vanishing point.
 
a woven chronicle
of manifested ratios and oceans evaporating. 
 
ask the right questions for an invitation
into ruby coloured chaos.
 
available and vulnerable to the mystery. 
 
engage the energy
of tightly bound coils unravelling.
 
break your heart wide open 
to pour myself in...

Sunday, 20 March 2016

eventually perhaps light pours through the wounds and the body and mind rise with the sun to catch the reflection of yourself as the world. the accumulated visions of a thousand eyes. luminous. with blackened fingers you empty yourself in order that you may be filled with all that is wild and holy, a simple soul saturation to melt on the tongue. an explosive undoing until all that's left is everything. and if there were such things as beginnings this would be it, but there isn't. there's only golden growth, savage and beautiful, through the blood and ash of your own seared skin.


*


"how can a three pound mass of jelly that you can hold in your palm imagine angels, contemplate the meaning of infinity, and even question it's own place in the cosmos? especially awe inspiring is the fact that any single brain, including yours, is made up of atoms that were forged in the hearts of countless, far-flung stars billions of years ago. these particles drifted for eons and light years until gravity and change brought them together here, now. these atoms now form a conglomerate - your brain - that can not only ponder the very stars that gave it birth, but can also think about it's own ability to think and wonder about it's own ability to think and wonder. with the arrival of humans, it has been said, the universe has suddenly become conscious of itself...."

~ v.s ramachadran from 'the tell-tale brain: a neuroscientist's quest for what makes us human'