Thursday, April 24, 2008

Tatooed Life

In the mist between the beginning,
daylit mind and the fantastic nethernight
you came like some scholar
bespectacled to learn the maze,
the lore of my muddle.
I’ve learned alreadyAlready learned
That you,
whose indrawn depth
whose inward breath
caught mine captive
Meant nothing by it.
Your fingers have stirred the impulse of intellect
Caught -
in the straining web of the nervous beating pulp
that is the artefactual house of the mystery
that powers the universe-
In awakened choice
unaware that your exploratory offering
was a carnage catalyst.
I could not escape your inroad on my being
Spectral doubt and longing haunts the ways of slumber
Clamours in the empty ears of the conscious day
Like the waves of pulse, constant unheeded drumming
that returns from the sleepless pillow,
flowing unholy in the rhythm of
tattooed life, the sense of you remains
coming and becoming till
only me formed of you
is left of you when
you came to me.

Eye of Winter

Snowy wings black-tipped
Gull flakes silent fall
Fleecy tree
Greedy caw.

Frozen all
Scarfy bundle me
Peeping eye, winter saw.

Cassandra said I are some pieces..recent and otherwise- fun to compare right? ...


A waking sleep, the lovely soft fur of the cat
the mixed gathering Of day-colliding-night
in the red depths of mingled wines
And drops of pure Burning heart distilled
No colour but only passion

The journey morphed into me. The long tracks of melded steel that rushed along the passages of wind
Falling gears like rainbow sealed in particled shapes, revolving links in a disjunctive chain
Rushed uncertain into coherence- the passing of energy into a driving force.
─ I am a train─
Phantom cars dragging in the heat behind me while faceward bitter cold
opposed motion.

Standing, seeking mine, on some mountain of man-heaped construct,
looking, down on a vista of gyrating tracks.
The narrow leap aside from hurtling freight monster as it howls by and my cars
huddle frightened, behind, intimidated.
The need to find the groove where accordioned tensed possibility might unfold
and process, the comforting path home.

Conscious of my tailing awkwardness,
Came upon pedestrian wanderers, in search of
Charon’s currency, please, they say: just a ticket home?
I tried to explain the dilemma.

Trains need tracks. I couldn’t find mine.

They laughed and told me I was drunk and shouldn’t be driving