Open Human Season

fits of inertia conversations with the universe agent orange open human season human buy product animal poems

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

spellbound slow in to it * escape goat * oil spill BraZillion Rainforest * Jerusalem cty (lrd) * Children of the flood * fast * Just is‌ * Islamb ? * 6 Billion Copies Sold * ‌in the footprints of the satellites * Night of the dark moon * unsuccumbing heroes * Soldiers of the war * Nowhere people *

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

for michelle breeze (4mb) Quickie * angeliq * el toro loco the Bangles echo * you fuck my mind * thing special Heart content *

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

eightrax Pompadore * Lotus misery * managing * Seed * Losst * Learning to Scar * Paper boat * Visitors Welcome *

32.

33.

34.

35.

September 10 2001 Used Vehicles * dragging the dam Nu clear * Rote words *

36.

37.

38.

39.

40.

41.

42.

43.

44.

45.

46.

47.

48.

49.

50.

30 The IIIrd * Jericho * A Killing in Africa * Mugabe * Blind Bulls come march 154 market str, Jhb * Living Like Kings The Gimp Wars * cold meld down age les * ant I * 8876 * SimBIOSis Hell is earth

51.

52.

53.

54.

55.

56.

57.

58.

59.

60.

61.

62.

63.

64.

65.

60 a place in the shade * walking home * wether the storm * free goods open mind discobiscut * Ringing the Changes * HP Sauce Sectional title * debt collector the weight of a talent * Bible Load afghanistani cricket african son Closing the day *

66.

67.

68.

69.

70.

71.

72.

73.

74.

75.

76.

77.

78.

79.

80.

90 PRESS DRUK * end of July * tragic surface of the pool * the short & rather uncomplicated life of a bait–size prawn * butterflye & scarecrowe * Reaching to the Divine Endless Reflections * Passing through * post mortem * Spiritual Heartache the dark side of the muse Love in the shadows * angel chain * Pisceas escargot * No work *

81.

82.

83.

84.

85.

86.

87.

88.

89.

90.

Return to Swine too many noodles * disclaimer two way traffic suffer little children human kindness onslaughter m’Lord…? son of Sam goodnight * General Rule

91.

92.

93.

94.

95.

96.

97.

98.

99.

100.

Home stretch swaan autumn amourye magdelane? * dignitey’s daughter * dunn khaya ihland o masehl * anteloupe lady cadaver * immortal effigy exeunt

He understood terrible purposes. They drove against all odds.

They were their own necessity. Paul felt that he had been infected with terrible purpose. He did not know yet what the terrible purpose was.

Dune Frank Herbert

Spellbound

slow in to it

snails tend to slow in to it just to day I watchd a boy and a girl snail go at it the whole long day – or so it must have been cos when I returned from rushing a round they were stil there still going to it… going strong so slow they were hardly

moving

slowly baby…

…yeah

escape goat

evolve past people escape the coming glory shadow your eyes – helples ssheep can kneedeep through entrusted to the fellow woolly way to get them out the bloody bits animals have nervous endings escape the flow of water into wine It really is blood this time and I think that was clive although the last time we spoke he looked more… alive… first no wool then the diet now this knocking on the heah….

oil spill

off the coast of california off the coast of argentine off the coast of cape canavrel off the coast of timbuktu off the coast of southeast asia off the coast of palestine off the coast of quiet waters off the coast of gone insane fat cats caught on spoungey reefs that suck up the gunk whats left from whats sunk gets carried to muck up on the shore in the form of black birds of warning their cries halted in the back of their throat by thick blood grit phlegm the silent night passes as sheets of darkness across our oceans – the burning of bridges between far places carries us nowhere we travel faster than we think toward the brink of survival the tar on our feathers dragging us down

BraZillion Rain Forest (a conversation) How much is it going to cost us?

–all these trees? I cannot say, sir.

How fast will you be chopping?

There’s labour of course, men with families mouths to feed, countless hands, theifs the Green peace earth marines – machinery, the oil house Refinery down the street bringing in the bigger fleet, the 75,000 paulbunyan clone mill drive operators who didn’t arrive from Japan this morning… your secretary –& that rehash with the cigar your lawyer & your wife, wait, wasn’t supposed to tell you that…

The indemnible villagers. the lost tribe found so suddenly last thursday now calling for Human-Rights Conveners….

Mmm all those trees, yes – too many snakes water sharks and fairies, Still so much wood to do – where are my mudslide forensic analists? taking a shower… Boss there is always CNN who would like to Humanitarianise the plot of the monkeys – they have a whole Sponsor bill of advertisers in to support your AntiNational church of fabric money lenders sure we can slot them in at 9. until then bring me my slippers and my coffee – I have decided to nuke to whole fuckingthing

Jerusalem Cty (Lrd).

Cease all Hate (in the name of…

Gethsemane ,another lonely place in you, was made & still to struggle here ?– all of them some of them flung ag’inst the wailing wall, some of them spread across the mntn.dome, wandering fair gentiles into the crude desert, sand black as the night that no glass darker than the glass to the farther through which the camel of riches has passed, can be made to sin ,ag’in & ag’in, in the eyes of the threebrand Lord five fingers reddend with the rubies of rust bloodloss and unbearable luggage, he sits awash once more inn a room where the same mirror has been broken twice now, this canno be sane, eh? cease all anger (in the Name of – which one of the three would you pray with me which verdict is sanct, (are the others then sus.? where in the holy cty now would you lay down your Life ? the clash and the carryof unreturnable dreams left for you gotten your war hangs in the balance of a volatile crowd our love for each other tears us apart…) cease all bloodshed in name of the religion cease all bloodshed, (for xris’sake, m’n !

children of the flood

In our country violence touches all of us for no apparent reason our hands religiously deflowering freedom our hearts in the right place arrive there without us everywhere is raining blood children of the flood we are walking together against eachother flotsam in the flow logs that carry bridges to the sea burning fields of poppy burning everywhere is raining blood everywhere is rising flood children of the storm drowning drowning lakes of sorrow fishes for wishes mud for lies our eyes have been opened by the flames by the rains by the cycle of life sofleetingly found this close to the ground each ending & beginning so soon so soon to soon everywhere is raining flood children of the blood everywhere is drowning storm children of the dawn everywhere is nowhere another dying night drowning out the light

fast

fast–foodgod, i. have nomore language with me dead people live fast-asleep in the fastlane beside me this is the end of the freeway lights.. fast–alone, we havenot slept in (years ? i. have sought youout with my eyes, in my heart hasnot felt a fucken thing i. have lookedlike myself more and more – people nolonger see me and that is good. i. fast ii.faster language no longer sits at the feet of the gods it racks the daughters of man we are simply put out and that is good. i. cannot stay to watch another cancer heal the wounds we have laboured so hard to form this listener of wood is deaf as stone; we search so hard to learn of distance i. cannot bring you closer than you are god cannot bring me closer from out far yesterday i rained this sorry tale for you and today i must soak it up again i’ m sorry but tomorrow may be rotten in the places we weren’t fastenough

as the dye is bled from day’s dying riddance of sun as your colour–fast independance trickles beneath the heel’s iron hand, dream of times when things were harder to understand and easier to except, dream of lesser measures making more of men, nothing matters beyond coming to peace and making terms with yourenemy , theself thatis fast becoming astand-alone historical momento of you,mankind together we paved a bright future together we lost a thousand prayers together we watched our gods turn dark upon us, together fast – awake fast – a sleep. fast alone

Just is….

Lay down your burden Lay down your arms our god has revoked the order to charge Religion has chosen your son to infect this world with a virus we cannot detect airports are cluttered with freedom in chains the devil’s controlling our big jumbo jets our country is training the pilots he gets to fly them in circles, and land them ? not yet But if god is a muslim, or a christian too, I’d be worried bout bhuddists in china (and you?) orders are sketchy, but plans are well drawn God has made hands from trees he has sawn man plays the Keeper to shavings and dust, some play for money, others for gain some men die in power, and others in pain Lay down your burden, here comes your god and angry as lightning, as just as the west he saw you were fighting– Killing knows best remember the desert, the Land you were from when you get there you ll no longer belong the oil has been buried, back where it came bearing that bloody and crucified name the sun and the power of man in his might, come to deliver you up to the Night.

Just is. No more deadlines in the headlines No more weavils in the rice….

Islamb ?

Love is a dull–edged blade turned against the Lamb is a little tender little tough righteous just sometimes isnt enough you have to get mean & even to be heard Death sentence belligerence, and General mayhem instigates a curfew, Satanical fanatical miscreant Roaming the streets in plain clothes smiling like a bundy – a McVey marshalling dishcloths against a technical prison of the soul where the pope comes once a year to sort us out –but still every so often someone tries to get a shot off– is lamb ? Is not Lamb ? Im no so sure no more. I first thought God spoke in every word and language pure through and through ? obviously so then true in some more though than others a defurled flower, a master power free range free kingdumb fighters, adying for the promise of eternity terror is the first step to forever a long winding staircase that never threatens to climb, Life gets darker as we grow older somehow we manage & continue to remember the Light as it was found – bound for blind eyes, as always…

6 Billion Copies Sold western Sectretarian –Global vegetarian hunters corner the cold start cosumers forcing beef down their throat, all along the roadside, verile as weed, thinking everything we need comes as we breed while we fill the land with our bones fill all the rooms of our homes with hungry kids colateral damage tomorrow’s message is a many headed monster – screaming to feed, 6 billion copies sold and none the wiser, all told western Desertation, market floods regurgetates yesterday’s aggrevating social failures, so we can learn how not to miss the smallest vice – sticker on a different price and call it simillar but better make it cheaper, breakable, instantly replaceable useless, nonredeemable, cash sale no refundable the instant necessities that mirror our intensities transcient & malcontent, carbon–dated for your convenience, endless choice with out relent, see below for sell–by date, 6 billion copies Sold of late – 6 plastic remedies arranged on your Silver platter – 18 carrat plate, wringing reeds off from the waters – sifting salt off of the plane, the Desert is this very place we will one day reign each a special snowcone each with Storms to sell, measured out in paper cups that on their own don’t sell too well, 6 billion copies & climbing leatherbound bodies to the point at the pyre where gasolene fumes a highway on ruins – across clear skies of another day clouded under blind resourceful eyes of wel come strangers, baring their souls for minimum wages walkin’ the path of consumate saintliness martyred to the modern veil of mayhem – fearlessly followed (for unattainable reasons…)

6 billion copies sold during open human season

…in the footprints of the satellites funny how we found all those dinosours by following muddy footprints through glacial marshes to their bed in the lime, sleeping sweetly as if they never once had teeth as long as my arm and a gut full of my ancestors – Now they were given a task, what with things coming down in ash and all… (we laughed and shook hands, dusted our spades on our jeans. passed a hip-flask) Lookingback. Well, I suppose… some things can never truly fade and fall into the past, we carry our fathers forward and they flag us falling behind Our children watch it all, and then make the same mistakes.

We have a moon of many friends, our night is never lonely where poets used to pan we have a blessed panorama, where poets used to pout we have cultured paranoia; Hunters become traders and animals begin killing themselves you cannot stop nature’s cycle, you can only narrow it to include yourself Why would you want to name the star Solaris ? when it probably has a name of its own it has decided not to tell us this it’s third season, the mercury will one day – harden when it sets, Flares to fire the waters, Lunes to calm them down to a flagrant swell; that eternally restless, or so thought… funny How Japanese was always a Cuisine, @merica the Stars Germany a Land of Cars & Gibraltars... Roswell was never a video.attachment, but a series of poorly received sitcoms travelling in bitmap, the sequel to eden; and wwwhy not… mmmaybe we need to turn it upside down, pull out the insides to wonder why it ticked before we did that, Maybe we deserve to wonder aimless through the flats picking over every stone in search of the Self–Destruct Button we would make a packet just before we plugged it we would find God, and He would point out our flower flourished in cement

Night of the Dark Moon

Brave men cried & Lovers died in the arms of a stranger all the beautiful people were at home at the same time & these streets were covered in emptiness and in ugliness, Shops now closed would never open in the morning or on some other day hence from now –hitherto unbefore chained against the floods of consumers nevereven seen nor swept there on National Flag events not present to learn a new language or sing in a strong milling voice–to support an avenging sport team fresh home from another defeat tonight we’ll all stay indoors inchairs afar from windows tonight the dark moon riding high & whistling the tunes of tomorrow in nobodies ears – tonight the gods build for themselves the fates of fickle men in the shadows of fallen stars – volcaneous rocks and all our lives strewn with nothing across the absolute the blank spaces in tomorrow mornings obituary already have their own names – printed neatly as if with a special care – bestowed upon the dead some of whom are still sleeping, Running into death quickly, silently without a word the factory treadmills and desktop operating systems have shutdown permanently at midnight, and all the planes dropped from the sky, no-one saw them land they fell as if planned by some giant mechanism to magnificently Gland thousands of people in to the euphoric afterlife the Night of the Dark moon approaches from every direction, sad and lonely people who hacked each other into smaller and smaller pieces receive their marking – are swept up massive platforms to the cooking pots where some are chosen as chefs and some are not

unsuccumbing heroes heartstill… insignificantly valuable something you would choose to loose unsuccumbing heroes digging in the landfills tired arms spading dirt smiling in the mist of it, in the menace of a million souls screaming penance, pen us pen is mightier than thou… how great they art…

Less smart than new kids – spilling off every block fresh batteries from K–mart blindsighted eyes from factorie studioes, building our hollywood idols slow from the mud up six kittens short a litter mothers scour streets tits hanging out fathers build machines to build babies palm slot magnets to penetrating gadgets– we’re sick of fucking… everywhere is glistening parking lots

Soldiers of the war…

born not far from the battleground – bones lain by the gate of life (in straight uneven lines) marked the trench from which Ive come against them shut a thousand times o’Lord –we are but just Soldiers of the war seeking solace, our weapons have been sharpened in sheer need our own town is burnt– our leaders have learnt how to control starting fires they are nowhere in the bucket– Line hey straw, monkey’s manure how will we murky mugabe? blame the cigarette com (we’re doing all they can… we’re sending in troops, cape baboon, many guerilla –previously disadvantaged–

-2USmetal surround the world, gloves of scales teeth & wings sittingin the ocean rehearsing 20–one guns – cleaning warplanes TV Repairmen fitting satellite guidance rigs to modified buicks & cesners general motors sees a sharp stock intake on Governmnt Contract but every other day we go to school in smoke pipe jeans sinking the killer kool words of a nother worthless hero into the skull of a numb unsuspecting schmuck (who probably deserves it… ) feed the fire keep hope in a safe place

-3on a camel into the night desert opens her dark cloak from the camp a single round as silent as the night is loud seeking soldiers for the war another martyr to the score another Soul before the gate, seeming to have arrived there Late camping out like such as us, fighting for the pitance of a penance, a few gold coins no more‌? down below horns blow a strident note the techno–scurry begins in beeps and fidgets un-accomodating gadgets burning holes in wallets and pockets In homes & relationships children on the brink of closet darkness see it all

Nowhere people No crowd control formula for the new millennium yet we are getting bigger allthe time in the world couldnt stop us now feeding off the fallacy that we deserve some of this, we are the inheritors, Nowhere people – standing around in trim outfits Looking stupid feeling proud god tear the whole contraption down, once we’ve milked the silicon cow sucked her dry as mother earth sent her sailing over the edge to her un–invented death Nowhere ppl – so close together now we can smell the animal smells just like chicken coupe…

Nowhere ppl – nestled neatly in marmalade shops eating their cream cheese smiles gawking out the windows – travelling toofast bottle rubber necking morons masquerade as human beings ever there were a time such as this there would never have come one after – Living in a hollowed out shell I can feel the pull of the tide sinking in this see–through skin I feel nothing

for michelle breeze (4mb)‌

Quickie 4mb

Please stop sending me poetry, I hope she’ll say‌ so I can start sending her flowers chocolates? audiovideo production assist dance with me if you ever get the chance the earth and the ocean, the sand and the glass your naked gaze burning deep into my heart there is nothing that I wouldn’t give nor grant to be the soil in which you grow your plant, tender as the pleasure on the edges of the garden

angeliq 4mb canno control canno control freak angeliq Listing to the favour of wideopen spaces we take a walk through each others arms back to the places we were freer than we once are & free to remain beleagured and just’ all accomodating aggregating ind.’s of assimillated human need, we needn’t say a word – the words hang spoken about us floating as if spun there in cerebral silk canno control canno control freak angeliq canno control canno contort freakq NC the hammering heartsold freakq NC the sundering panneling freakq NC the virtue of forgotten thorns suddenly come across, the freakq NC angeliq an impossible journey the willing legend wearing the horns we inhabit everything/inhibit nothing where we take apart all our idols with fine tools I am finding angels in everything I reach for you ever closer toward transparency… apparently

el toro loco 4mb

In the mind of the bull there is no black no white In the mind of the bull there is only red In the mind of the bull there is no matador there is only some fool who gets in the way… the bull does not know why the bull sees only red, Sometimes he may get to sire one whole farm if he is a lucky bull. If not, well… there are worse fates that can awaite a bull… some days you’re the bull some days you’re the bull pity the creatures that pity the creatures was out all last night running a dog chasing silly wabbits – after I met you I started dreaming in colour and the colour was rinsed on the horison at the beginning and at the ending of eachday red lingering longest, taking and giving away I wondered out onto the red slopes of a monster planet – so ppl think this is where some of us come from ?

I was a speckle in the sky a spick of dirt in the eye, I rinsed myself clean of sand you can never get away from entirely – the inner chambers of the heart where nothing lurks, I beg I found you there ?

I closed the door but quietly – I had a torch I stayed all night but readily…

the outer rims of reality where all dust accumulates where all methods become dissolvable in endless time, I beg I found you there ? moments before I gave it all up & back, began again, out of hope less ness… a red star spinning turning into itself a red moon hung above paper thin cloud it cannot touch us, see ! it can only hang there & frame us, all the time ? surely not again, out of pure dis pairing I came oncemore to the sound of your voice but you were not there?

I sat for a while and waited simply utterly sundred rendered domb and drunk, a lost puppy bomb willing to infuse with love kindness and endless hassle behind the walled enclosures that Sometimes we call home & sometimes we call lost I’m home now but I cannot remember where I came from – I think I fell from the hole in the sky, I think I was chasing red rabbits with the no.s of God run on their sides I was the leading Greyhound in an endless race devoid of all Order I remember I tore through the sides and went straight for you, readily disobeying everything, devoid of everything but a deep piercing need to catch you to catch you to… .

the Bangles 4mb Pain is the quickest route through to the heart a path less travelled mapped by your hands scarcely found and gone, my hands held together tied up to the night my every thought in bondage and your smile – my plastic dreams have all melted and the mess is an embaressment, the role I chose left me in the throws of a great whelm of self pity when you left I sat by the fire in the rain with others, tears tracing a quick and happily unnoticed course before drying in the light of these flames someone has fed too much wood now I’m burning which one? which one?

Leaving these grounds some Rebel cut the bangle you gave me from my wrist and bade me fare passage through this night, what a cunt ! I collect these things in jars at home sloppy concoctions with lables and such, and I know I cannot return – the beast has bid me out unfed and desired by no-one…

Leaving these grounds this cunting rebel cut the bangle you gave me something which others have graciously taken from my wrist and thrown to the ground – neglected, a routine to stop the hunger and the darkness from overflowing out onto the streets Scarcely knowing where to begin I have come across the end of everything again – don’t ppl understand the stupidity inherent in such a thing? they will cheer me on – one day I may sing until then I’ll keep my fucking mouth shut thank you very much…

®50 @ the door a deep purple bangle for your effort a deep sparkly purple bangle for your tried and wasted effort left hanging between anticipation and frustration, She sang for me ®50 @ the door she sang for someone else, an orange bangle for the collor of your coin sitting on the sides, dirty porcelain performances mercurial become murky – thank–god Im not on the bike tonight…

I woke to tomorrow thankfully at first, I shut the fuckup shortly after – began drinking again, broke my computer at work and worked the tension out the ball of muscle on my knuckle that sounds like broken bone every time I press it A yellow bangle for a song and a dance – the red one ? for the chance I never swept you off your feet I get up and sweep this shit from under the mat out the door into the rain that stayed when you left

echo 4mb

we died the death of dreams – far from Real Safer by far than finding something too bright too blinding, Love is never mindful – ever willing, we died the death of dreams – cards folding over hands holding hearts from the flame a small metal cage for a larger than life animal – o how many horns I have for you – how we died the death of dreams I, still reaching for the key where the fuck is the key ? why this darken claustrophobia? who turned out the sun Silver bars replace the stars , I let you free you flew away you sang for me I heard purest I was there almost, in the lee of the wind – I died the death of dreams, soft before the dawn, Sigh a shallow note stole from the song of Life a page your name writ on it clear between each bar though not by my hand or I wish I could carve out your very niche with my own tongue – each collected bone every scatter brain thought, blood & wine and vice, I who serve my self on ice – pay a price because of it – die the death of dreams, you left me free to follow it Ithankfull sorryful take my humble leaf of absence, with or official perpetual loneliness rehabitates itself dreams it seems r statistically proven to die before we reach fruition, tension is better than pleasure?

I die’jus where the fuck is the key?…somebody? somebody ? anybody ? echo

you fuck my mind 4mb Not that Im much of a find, or at that being unkind, when I say – you fuck my mind you come in the light of all reason, dancing and teasing and seasons pass people change, thoughts emerge from winter caves craving the warmth of illusion, truth truer than freedom, Love deeper than friction I find you fuck my mind (and at that, very fine… for years I have travelled blind and light never staying longer ever leaving sooner falling off of youth on a runaway wagon sinking first into the flagon on every wedding night I arrive late at some other party – presently permanently confused, but you fuck my mind, I open my heart and my soul falls out, that you never seem or care to face the fear that flatters you –your endless compassion for feeling, your vibrant front & firm resolve, your ease of use, adaptable– you fuck my mind, or Im not really much of a find, be yond where every man and woman childe sought and fought before I grew my horns my wilde, you tamed, you came you fucked my mind. spread & prone afar from home I fill the form in fantasy & memory, in magic in intensity – a visit from the beauty I have sought to neglect, a care for the course I have lost not much worse, forgotten it all at the drop of a dime intended to caught, listing the reasons for living for nought; you fuck my mind – you fuck me blind, but Im coming out of it wanting – distraught afterwards, in the ever-math of cloning my love for you, the mess of aim and delivery systems that never quite match the original I get up I light a spliff I smoke on my own you fuck my mind. not that Im much of a find or at that, being unkind, when I say you fuck my mind – you give me a reason to reason

thing special 4mb

something special reminds me of you the morning dew I never catch sleeping til evening (working to death some special sunrise seen cos I havent slept yet some ache in my heart burns incandescent some lovely melody I can only whistle lonely tunes the birds watch me, sometimes I listen to them comment how they never see you hear no more how days have dragged on gutless, reeling how something miracle came with you left me dark and wondering which way the wind blows from ? which day my life ends on? not that I could care, a slight chill in the air a slight chill in the air isall or this may be a very bad time to mention that I‌ eh love d your hair I thought we could just get together and stay together that the world would take care of its own for a while, while we werent there while we went away, something special reminds me of you something so special my clumsyhands

heart content 4mb

content, right now Just to talk to hear the Sound of your Voice… given the absence of your presence– as an abcess in the soul, content at all to please the void of you to carry your darkness & your fear for as many heavy years as you could bid me walk away to live without your love & hold it safe content Right now to stow my self in a cold place – beneath the Light, that I may grow beg up for a morsel & receive my fate on a paper plate, but just to hear you & Im content to move through Hell without re Lent – all those useless Lessons, to clean it out I am willing and loving honey and lemon – I am the locust feeding on oblivion I come in disguise Not a frog Im a fox

eightrax‌

pompadore

I’ve been walking with the ancients, and as usual, they have nothing new to add, my sojourn with the darkness has brought no light, Silence has uttered not a sound to me, let alone some device that to guide, have I found outhere, outthere – anything at all to show for my return, so be it… that I walk empty handed through your world empty minded, uninvited could I spare a thought for you, skin of my soul – as I am bled with life and coloured with the paint of this world, stripped so often of my eyes as I am drawn from this moment to the next by forces which tear me apart, I shall continue to dream, even when my dreams grow dark – when the players draw my name in dreadful dice, I shall take my counters there, suspect no respite, each by each; I shall stand though my legs shall be heavy, my mind cast in doubt, I shall battle my enemies forthright, tear the world from my face and search my eyes for the new dawn, once I am victorious, and once I have overcome, I will wade with the ancients, and the blood of wisdom shall bathe my feet, will deck my shins with shedded debris from an unclean ocean. the unwashed motif, while swimming with the ancients in the red sea I came across the surge of waves I have never seen the like again.

Lotus Misery

Right the House of David spun The kalvin star of Solomon Part the skys And part the birth Part the cants of passage pressing man in earth And the ageless forge, the living ash, The due of dust and mint cold against the lips of her Salten fresh image Ocean scent The Patching of a parting and a fetching of the Desert from a bed of feathered idols flown From the folds of her wethered Gown a sequin a surloin A rapture so Cutting a diamond So ground in a mouth so Cunning Set in a Delta so swelling with the urge of ancient courses.

Gods! –How a man must thirst.

Managing

Spirit of my ancestry would to see wood for the tree. forking to sky hilground search fire smoking branch from plaging face forage the deadfall kindling kindred. black remains black and bed spread of night is now dark from pissing on fires. the words are sick and throwup poem; hungry for fuck. love is blind in a world of nothing love is fuck love is crucibled love is man’aging this evering burning thing this gathering this sorting into place these things that have no place, to ever so long belong; I could never bestrong for love the weakness in my joining is more than winter a cold spell has nothing on a sun born for burning.

Seed Here there is no humour along the sexual border Here there is sand, there is rasping but no laughter Here there is no mustard plant no feet planted in the mud here there is genre or gender, a bright orange glass slipper no champainge cinderella O’ Batholomeu, Raisor of angelica Here there is, no mustard oil no stale and ageless habeneiro, Here there is one last lintel against your night, morning glory.

D’monique

She is bleeding, she is leaking persistent still & red against, Here there is no afterburn here there is & only burning, small moments of herself a quiet yellow sun it is, any rain is pleasant.

Here there is no pebble in the sky here there is my heart, and stone in my heart growing c old, growing dumb

Losst

have you seen me? got both my hands inside my head both my eyes beneath my feet last seen leaving home in empty shoes do you know me? wear my heart upon my skin dress my blood in chemidrene last seen leaving home in empty wrappings burning clene through fetching doors would you love me? left my soul on rightside drifts stretching arms and spinning fists made my marks upon the wall with a broken key’yesterday flew into the looking glass last seen leaving home through a windowless

Learning to Scar

One need first learn the legs to walk Then one may need to cut them off, two to step the one ahead the one behind –& none to nurse the need to scar. bloodymary butchersson Was in you the need begun?

To walk, and yet to never run? no’s the rush, the world will turn Everything will come to you Everything will pass you by Death will stand on two legs and life will crawl on ten fingers and ten toes to standingstill.

And standing shows where walking goes onward on crutches Grass grows greener crows grow blacker The hill grows never empty for the fodder of standing cattle.

One step two step the jingle of the danglegoat Learning the scar onward upto the Abattoir

Paper boat

people lived in caves people looked out the mouth and the eyes people thought the moon was a hole in the sky but the sun was actually a bathplug holding the water on the outside here comes the rain people constantly thinking in raincoats if he had clever hands he would fold a paper boat rather people floated on the august wind like an assortment of winter leaves hung in the gutter waiting for spring people blew along the surface life was golden life was fallen red and yellow people lived in cars the road shon as if covered with tiny bits of glass the road was covered with tiny bits of glass behind the glass there were tiny bits of road going other places he thought he saw people out the window of a bus but they were just people outside the window of a bus if he had clever hands he would still fold a paper boat rather he would put tar all on the outside people came and went like nothing had happened people came and went people come and go nothing happens that seems to be the best of it

Visitors Welcome

250cc proof man can fly on the wings of methadone “some junglejuice, sir… to soothe the bumpy ride? to hold me in a warm embrace just above the tar onward…! to the place, where small miracle of wonders women wait to take my clothes off in a hurry - I must be the luckiest man alive tonight I must be sleeping off a bad dream with my eyes open, are my eyes open? and my leg, is that broken? I figured as much lying on the ground back there. …how’s my bike?

250cc proof man can fly , given half the chance & a lucky break man can fall from the heavens as well as any bird on a binge…

20/20 hindsight & the double-figured medical are the only features hanging in the air around that, and anaesthesia found woken on a tiny bed in the small of the morning clinging gingerly to the crippled sanity of consequence, & the latent ends of the good mood to see you here

September 10 2001

Used Vehicles

Traffic takes me back to the days when there were less vehicles and people stayed indoors more, relied on natural timing to put in an appearance when it was absolutely necessary, and then get done by a mammoth on a routine hunting expidition, Your fifteen minutes of fame cut short by a sudden juddering feeling, straight through and out… nobody stopped to watch. Those there dug a hole offered your meat to strange gods, ate what little was left, grew the wings of giant birds in slight lit caves and opened small businesses after having found the ocean brave with dead men’s dreams and a land unconquered beyond the reach of any King we grew soft and lazy, fat and slowly towering achievement on top of achievement, paving cities of gold out of circles of power, of pain and punishment wrapping men in leopard skin, tagging them cold, humourless marking them fit for war, placing them in the line of fire then measuring it from point of impact to grave.

Those of them as were not wounded we tried to save all our failures reflect a willingness to learn to keep on mass producing these weapons of self destruction.

Somewhere along the line even the Manson family could give us a Jesus Christ. Lost half–way between Bliss and Oblivion in a used ford the options are endless down a narrow road desert skirts the dirt lane, Reality is a concurring nightmare, the devil’s accident without Re Call.

Ive been Dreaming in cactus, walking for miles without a soul

Dragging the Dam

Laying Guilt and blame is alot like dragging the dam is a lot like acquiring heaps of shame with No where to store it but in plain view a public flogging of your choice ideals is exactly what is needed in this instance – you’ve gone too far away again striving for love, covered in sin Less the manner of pretending plus the purge of revealing your true self beneath the skin an animal in fox clothing Laying the chips where they deal tossed up and falling, scatta–brain’d catching angels in waiting, Laying guilt on the ground like a seed in the silt, a river’s raging course a house built on stilts carried carcass in suitcase through air port Lying through metal detectors wearing defective shoes coming up spades in holes in deserts another mammal delivered quietly into the arms of the almighty

Nu clear days are blue, skies wide sun reactor factor sea level trebles no one is cold no one is hungry. no–one is alone no-one is lucky or dying we Nu clear ppl love with white shining blindness effecting your offspring, sincerely shades and all sorts of shadows clouds and all sorts of storms a waste of time and of energy, moving in any direction stay close to the flame keep warm–the winter is coming meltdown melodies for a nu generator–Xwing scientists speculate with matchsticks how long the road to recovery is going to cost us. while shipping coffee through closed borders proved wildly substantive, offical reports con firm ufo sightings left the subjects speechless the great human experiment continues… an end in sight congratulations spread like a virus out before us into the poor quandrants where more innocent deaths have been predicted who are we to complain? chernoblue, days are shy Life is scarce & precious

Rote words

Rote words when feeling isnt everything when language is stale bread before everlasting hunger Rote words when danger quickens the heart renders Spirit unfased nothing touched but dust with loose fingers forgotten hands Rote words (tiredeyes) Rote words deadend ends of fingertips dipped in clear ink in correction fluid in the days when words wrote Real ideas… when the best thing since sliced trees Rote words…. misery on tap. tap tap tap tap…

30

the IIIrd I… I missed the cultural reunion – by a matter of late trains I was empty on the platform I denouced my luggage and walked from the scenes on my hands, The Original Monkey–boy® Passing the so-called Citizens of art I climbed a Hill, but that was after the Reception, where recording dramatic entrances left a taste for the canal An almighty literjon of water with which to wash the world a Boy from the South (will rise?) never too cool for the Blues, They held the religion without me But that was alright because I am already sacred My pockets fullof atombombs I held the Bandana bold leading an American Bulldog through the township I was late for the cultural reunion I was calling the codwhipped from the streets into the Hotels of Democracy I was renaming the 52 presidents of a Host regime

I was late for the cultural reunion But my Legend preceeded me to the Banquet where I pardoned the punch where I greeted the guests in irony

Jericho. i have the habit of not following my dreams, i have the habit of walking in darkness. forever fool, what light is that? shines from the walls of Jerico, and upon the shoulders of man to land? i am my own mute trumphet, i stand among you, and divine the circle we drag an infinite cord around our neck lift your sorry eyes, shake your sorry head, open your scorge and sing a wound unto the bitten land. seven days and seven days, i am a man in counted ways, my purse, my pretty purse, they have wiped her clean. each moring she retires, each evening she returns more worn and pretty than the day before, less threaded for the thorns i draw from her hide, i am the lion whose teeth they have pulled i pine for zion, i cannot feed a captive hand to this empty urge. seven days and seven days, i am a man in metered chain. no sooner than the hollowing of jackals more sure than turning the moon to jerico, from zenith and fallen, i have brought the oil to burn i have sung the arrows straight and narrow. no longer do i walk among you, no more do i sound my trumphet in the deaf alley of man, my voice is heard and softened, in jerico have i earned a name. seven days and seven days, even the king has heard thunder walks within a man within these walls, i have the habit of holding the crown i will bring this city down.

A Killing in Africa

Sunday drivers in Saturday traffic, all the Rage nowadays are handsignals in cubicles, Little metal icebox shimmering summer Roadside diner & Bird shit on cars , Lady in the glove compartment adjusting the mirror in her lipstick the highborn gloss finish on conversation lilters Shining compliments (al’round every nuance a new and studied experience, feeling these hands round loose and learn’ed neckskin turning the eyes to follow these words and complete them, mascarared strokes a laquered polish, fingernailing gearsticking upthrough 1st & down into the endless neutrality of breakdown ironies, conjested speedfreaks Iron consumption and calcium bone grafts littering paper conjested walkways clogged in the gutters’ 3rdWorld advertisement selling loose change to Crime’s Derelict Person Standing on the whiteline between robots & Pilots , contemplating the cities rigorous rigor mortis Deathlessly

Mugabe my warsun hero

here I heap your praise you piece of shit you lower than a pig pen cowflop –bend you are entered by men of Higher office in the dead of nigh nigh... night you sing my point sharp in the light of a hundred thousand/ a hundred hundred thousand thousand burning dying fires of men who have trusted their faith to monsters – you monarch of faceless dogs and patron of filth, you wretched waste of black skin in a country brave enough to call you son, I see you broken and beseeching at a muddy hole where waters once lapped at the shores for your children, who will never grow old who would rather die than choose to become greater, & the dreams that have trapped them, fucked and scoured by you – war criminal, scavenger imbecile, moron, mother to no nation but a scattered pilgramige of forgotten workers left out to plough the earth by the light of a moon that has never truly shone on them from far enough away, your hecters and hundreds of green hectres of green slumbered pasture will carry your bones like a wet itch and sour the valleys through which these rains have come and come and come, Mugabe, my warsung crusader of Light and Righteousness, God and cleverness – For how long do you think africa can sleep with your words on her lips like the legions of dead priests, bearing blood to the rivers of a new and ghastly sacrifice?

How long before She turns to you and speaks to you in words only you can understand?

Baptised in the Knowledge of Kings.

Blind Bulls

blind bulls blunder further than other animals – It’s not their madness, it’s their blindness…, africa is blessed with few such creatures preferring a healthy array of predators though our countries still suffer when madmen find power; being smaller than hitler while tougher than leather, the hide must break, the blood will flow for me & you… welcome to the final arena, even the gods will bow, every one gets sand on Their hands we will serve a cunning dish we will spill blood Blind bulls pulling stones for a captured continent, slaves come home – jobs wanted for new slave drivers Take the Leaders to the Rivers feed the hippos, the sun will set under song and we will be strong again not thin not dying mud will cake our huts on hot days we will find shelter – even in the desert of our old age and where the Bull runs we will shoot a mightly arrow we will eat the heart

come march (on the upcoming Zimbabwean election…

come march – crie in one voice let the month of the jury decide which one together we throw to the side wolves howl come march – this moon is bright tonight I see a shadow on the horiZon a battle which has not to begin lest we walk back into the field and never return not a single one, fires from the heavon hereafter known as the men who failed themselves, their families their friends – we were the ones who were never their they will call us, faithless monsters of our own creation creep about blindly in broad daylight – still we cannot understand the roles we play – our tragic places so lost of grace we cannot face our own neglect to re)act come march come march to the sound of many Pounding ft. come march –lift your eyes to the skies sing whatever it takes…

154 Market Str, Johannesburg …Nowhere to go in Newfound Snow, Jhb Kennedy’s glue holding us sticky-side-up o’my’god ! they killed KingofClubs, tore up the Calton to laydown tidytrax (gsus!)

Everybody knows : a train in or out of Joburg is Guerilla warfare, though the glass is harder than any you woud see through the only rabbits are those in your headlights; 4 X4 Japanese tourists stoning sleeping lions best left eating mo’sam Beacons, -who in their right mind would drive left-handed? (what feul for the pity of Hiroshima… want magic mushroom for the mushroom cloud ?

Kay ’but get off mine, JackDis’here space is my spot …elbowdance ! !

LeClubbing, reject europeaneurs an africa of the ostrich, waves on bothsides of the atlantic kept me heading from the shore in the currents of our nights back then when ecstacy was not the only alternative Msg Lsd , 20C fux - Living on the edges of brutality & art “hope someone remembered to bring the spliff… “where did Billy Corgan Go, oR one of the great unanswered questions of our time DownSouth , where little light shows we spread fat and lazy in the desert sun anyway Midnight @ the’ Oasis, singing “what’s the story, melan colly? where is my mind & where has all the Musec Gone?

Shooting from the hip, dancing with a chick (or near a chick, drinking from the lip of a glass bottle lifting the lid on beauty… ,stick back there, where ecstacy was not the only alternative

Living Like Kings I want to Live like Jefery Dahmer Never Hungry – never sorry Can I have a leg of lamb? another pool of gravy can I take the schoolgirl out and treat her like Polisie?

I want to Live like mother fucker Kings & Whores, Jacks & Ripper kill the queen and call the calvary Kisser in gethsemane, shooter in the tower – children in the gutter I want to live life like mr Dahmer Killing for my supper Living Like a King on Brain in Garlic Butter I want to dine on style and Grace tonight – feeding on the innocent like the vampire lestat I want to Live Like Teddy Bundy smiling at the drop of a hat – Dribbling drooling Juicing so calm & unenducing so clear of what he felt of bodies he had kept Beneath the heat of Summer like a clammy itchy sweet, The Movie says it’s Glamour but in life its work work work I want to Live like Jefrey Dahmer 6ft o’er the Surface of Sin never touching anything I want to Live like Jeffrey dahmer Never hungry, never sorry caught like cold fish within the slammer – could no have been no Damder note – to end in such a sorry state (but still…)

I want to pretend Im Jef Dahmer feels like admission of guilt to me Son, Man I thought I Could get a way with it there for a while but o so smart – a cop with a Lead start

The Gimp Wars

conglomerate interview scenario – welcome to the corporate fish pool phase one: Initiation, sit in line & made to wait amongst others, 12 hopefuls like apostles, eager to eat of the fruit Silver steel glass encased, striking white tiles off which light’s irridescent reflection blinds a confident carrot finder, watching security usher in these sheep in woolly fleece people with a place in life clearly laid out around them, Here we are resolute strangers, poverty stricken stares out each of us, fighting in silence for a piece of the highrise phantom share option, ghosting the corridors & slicing the cables with personal vices for boardroom seating arrangements… the money market is full of fools as these, bending over backward for golden dildos and flashy incentives, Ive got my own directive, but management dont care for that management want a scatter–brain scaredy cat, someone to fuck and smile & walk the extra mile for assholes. phase two: Here’s looking at you, Kidd…

I walk in and walk out later, wondering why I even bother…

I wrote a letter to my love on a piece of paper… (you would think a more accurate appraisal should incl. a nice computer software word processor, but write in a scribble and pretend that this drivvel is the shite we give to clients… outside in the real world in the land of the giants you are once again a little man free to live as you please, and if you find yourself on your knees digging in the gutter for the stuff we throw from windows, pick those bones clean of meat before the crows come calling in the morn ing traffic. Life plays no favourites but Ive got a curve ball up my sleeve, & if you see me leaving with a smile on my dial out of place, Remember this man with a plan & a spring in his step – He came and he conquered without losing his pride to the moderate circus… yeah I got all my tricks Lined up – Ducks in a row along Skidmark Boulevard I listen to people practise for peanuts, & feel feathers for fighters, (fucken cocks cunts and wankers… welcome to the Gimp wars… Corporate fish farm fiasco… catch the hook & set the bait, all of this I understand as I sit & wait for onemore hell to pass me by gratefully unnoticed

cold meld down

There is an edge on the moon tonight, cutting huge curves in the tide, The race is on to beat the river shoreward, down along the coast we tumble, disconnected from daily routine, living the good life; Rotting in the sun. moving world –we turn upon all we come upagainst, when last we came to contemplate (in the places where we congregate…) the beach was yet bearing east across the burning heaven, beneath our feet the earth is shifting, shrugging off her coat of silt back into the ocean, the mother rising sure as the seas…; we cling to the surface, a struggle to release her last reserve Sifting her driven waters, licking her slick sides clean, Combing the dunes for diamonds – coming up hands full of dust Once there were men she could trust, women who could heal now every bray, every peal of unconcealed laughter strikes a wound deeper; the running wanderers have left smiling their few last wrinkles into a setting contenance, a modern clay that reflects nothing but itself in varied glances tall giants stride this place, standing still and swaying slightly in the same wind rippling patterns in the mud of a pool where the tide, now retreating, reaches nomore. this floor spread in eagles swooped from above are the echoes of species who will never evolve. the ice is growing thicker moving slowly coming closer while we gather to wither in fleece from the winter it melts faster than the eye can trace, here we come to Rest, no farther from the caves than where we’d begun sweet desert fruit sorbet – fleshy bathing suit basin stars strung out high above in the endless forgotten.

age les

outside the tv lies in the grass covered in tyre-iron, tethered to the tree was a dog where we bought our dope with a short piece of nylon rope, these guys ask for bucks for beers even when cash is handed over – money money money in any mans world outside the murder lies in the mud waiting for morning to be forgottn another head–line serial box cartoon nothing matters now no not nothing thinks another kid in another school –waiting to be bought all the pleasures of the world on a tinfoil plate ageless cutlery with a serviette

ant I

Ant I am 1 ant in one–million mind in mind one thought in all – ant I am 1 ant in one|000 000 0001 0011 0110 10011011 0001 01000111 1000 00011012 |ant I wh ?

8876 ...theory of music and machine

IN 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 1234 8876 6788 0000 0001 0010 0011 0100 0101 0110 0111 1000 1001 1010 1011 1100 1101 1110 1111 8876 6788 0000 1234 0010 1234 0100 1234 0110 1234 1000 1234 1010 1234 1100 1234 1110 1234 8876 6788 ND

SimBIOSis

Life is a feeding beast – gotta do what you do to stay out the trough yourself, you know this thing doesn’t mind what it puts in its mouth It all goes in eventually – They werenot kidding when they spoke of spirals now were they ?Teeth on wheels Im sorry I can’t picture it grinding to a halt – there is too much to it the electronic nightmare of it all is we may run out of energy before to long and start feeding off each other one enormous phantasmagoric orgy – growing new wires new holes I keep on thinking Im going to wake up now but this dreamlesSleep is real hankering on the edge of the darkness – a Stray beam of light wondering what is this grand new thing? in tomorrows progressive state of mind you’re either on the train or standing in front of motif. tableux hoax take the rust out of rasta- Leave the gold in Geneva, either ever way we are coming into land –This is working out exactly as we planned Just not for the so fast part of it – Hoping the ground will break the Fall. Leaving everything where it lays – as always Scarring is a natural state of growth –skin on skin sewn strong again

life is fleeing east as we speak itis sellingout shares in the setting sun

Hell is earth

I should consult a horroscope or a shrink so many things to do in this world, & not enough time to think many of the plenty of decisions to make arnt going to make it some children are going to go hungry to day others have learnt not to eat Hell is earth & Heaven is myth some things will not be missed Having never laid eyes on them, hands on experiencing nothing out of the ordinary Lately? Hell is early –all is not as it seems) Laughing tigers, the world wide antipanda coalition, and a charming virus Vd Pc – who would you be rather? heresay, heresee, escarrion orthe phallacy ?a figure out the prophecy Standing in the Shadow of the Sun I should consult a directory inquiry a direct order from your blootooth fairy tale – sit down and make a connection, Loose the decision to make decisions for your selv Nation alarm – close your borders and assasinate your King, populate the moat with small flesh eating fish – here awaite farther orders the Church has decided to Regulate traffic and drop daily prices Consumers to give thanks & praise without discord, all accordingly each to his own method modus corpus Hell is earth undying raucous – Like in triplicate

60

a place in the shade

you would be smiling were I the forgiving kind Kind of heart and gentle though I may be a Lion in the midday shade Sunning himself you would be hunted and huntress the beginning and the end of the moon you would be worshipped were I the worshipping kind I am still a child playing with cards in rough cement 14 stories down cars petrol the streets in slow wicked arcs Blindly I have stood here before a victim to trafficking I was a driver a cold negotiator a mugshot of a camper fighting a bear in the country where they have only Lions and Castles and bottles that fall with love from the sky and Gods who cannot worry how we use it. from the inside of a place in the shade where Black light shines a truth on the walls I have known Love to falter I have never faltered – I cannot falter

walking home for the refugees of afghanistan

a displaced stone a landslide of handfulls of peoples thrown by giants down mountains where the fabled evil sleeps one eye open, all the time running even in dreams sandscript tongue, the hungry one an empty nation travels lightfooted without food or men, what have you done with them? sent them to america or sent america to them under the line of fire we see our heros clearly, children who cannot fight or women who cannot talk all bright barbs in the human desert where tension is strung in line from one burning town to another bridge, Bandage the wounded, & send them ahead terror lies all around us we are already dead drawn in chalk til the very end, pearl along the spider web. * a second home, a home away from hell we will walk there and we will find it how? child I have legs and a mind, I cannot sence the will of God though I feel always his hand before me sit for a while and we will wait for the wind to carry us further, we will wait for the shifting sand to drift over cover our flickering shadows from the stars we will see ourselves at night, and we will be shaking hands with the devils that swoop from the dark

Wether the Storm

5 He wakes on an empty stomach though not for lack of hunger Empties his head onto the floor where for the day it may cover the tiles, This sickend burden of skin that lurches within that stumbles through the door not 15 minutes later almost at once suprised to see the sun and know himself 4 Classified slash/murderer - files so steep I have to ladder before I shudder at the mounting evidence Dark warehouse rooms, I wish I’d been born in “… grown up in …” he hu-hu-huddles around his bones an ashy firedrum about noon the next day, solvent in the vibrant city unCommunicative the captive member of a non-commital audience group, a silent partner in the theatre treatment entertainment troupe a soldier in the hole of the atom wondering… where to next ?

3 a Crowd Pleasir ! that was what he was; always : clamouring for more always : a shout above the rest Strange voices he would have that we would hear them only in absence.

Some desert ; I am afraid I’m done with the main course and may not be able to tip you ‌ The food was passing glory, ages caught in the stale history of its kitchens, I detected mice in the sounds from the pipes and am currently with the foodboard actually 2 I bring a survival kit to the Second World I come in the name of He Who Sits in-leather-seats, I do this for no other reasonI am torn between .38 innocent mudskippers and the religious principal of approaching madness with fire in the gut, brandished : 3 cars and a babycarriage, several assorted memories altered of an assaulted afternoon at the airport

1 Ji’had. He walks a holy avenue in the dust. we cannot follow on our feet so we must wear boots, for the ground we are about to tread must be prepared, Where else does one wade the earth ? a river trade in hearts for diamonds, where Clubbing and Spading count for more than Love and Death, Less pitance than your average man nearing the redlight on a nightout I swore the moon was orange it was the harvest moon It came on with the beady stars suddenly , with effect creeping into position beginning to chirrup Like the culling of summer crickets swarmed in a storm,Legs torn as wings from flies

freegoods

take as thou wilt New credo for the able… get as thoust can whilst the going is gone. spilling from the slit in a cloth sack beans & magic braincells, children in cathedrals pissing between pews * freedom’s runaways from all sorts of goods stapled to the backs of their right hands & foreheads, behind their eyes daylight lurks in corners of cupboards where skateboard s gather dirt computer’s killing the heart of it, gently squeezing fetid air from closed curtain lungs kids collide on the internet and never return falling happily into unmissed oblivion under strange aliai that duplicate the worth of such mindless pretension and armed–inventing while we’re sending viruses through hyper space as our parents before us, swollowing half truths half pills half-plastic gell coated coagulations of, farmers in the desert of the great human disease discarding the wrapping, inserting the module – plugging the contents with holes shine through

freegoods for the all lot of you, stamping condoms to the masses which ruin when correctly applied dashed with some desire sliced to come atorn and drag the whole lot down * when the waters are cleaner we will call the fish back, asking nicely when the air is fresher we all shall replant the forest & burn less paper for pleasure fewer men for greater passion, No one gets out without their books in order (…the last town in 72 mil.light yrs free passage for fools (… free downgrade to monkey on too long excursions travelling options cluttered withthe dreggs of intelligence/survival/freedom * happily to stand in an ever reaching que, I meet my wife cos she is thrown at you, dared to escape the masculine clutches of barren warrior & into the wrath of being damsel, the electronics on this thing is amazing honey it even thinks for you and to think they’re giving them away free @ the store… you just have to have one, hear..?

Half a millennium away from any thing worth sending science found home in the heart of man Signs of things to come so doomed to win are we to take a part everything & put together a monster ? free design from a tragic life is something we would all sell our souls for if we could find them first they seem to be all strewn around the place, hung on wire out to dry, right in sight as if not a care were given to it just treated as Life would– placed there for good or Nought, the globe turns light remains on one side only

open mind

open mind road ahead paved with blank expression – words race relentless endless through marked parking spaces empty vehicles carry nameless people forward we are searching for the same place. an old man remembers twisting tumbling acrobatics automatic transmissions reinsert images of grey faces at opposing windows – our journeys begin to make sens long before we pack these bags with things we cannot use along the way a poet remembers traces of fear to inspire great energetic efforts through darkness light travels blind through an open mind, somewhere before I close my eyes there is something I must find if only I could remember Life before the long haul

discobiscut dead streets at dawn days in the disco, days in the tubes, dbreak beats ad yawn eyes sleep hollowed out their catterpiller dreams force leaves through the teeth of unwitting children, see janet fuck spot see spot fuckenn loving it! zzzeus an al’the good ol’boys take turns see janet al’fuckedd up see john fuckenn losing it! see spot run! run spot -------fuckennnnn RUN!!! we’ll make an evening at the races of it, shoot the loser and torch his car …“fuckenn loser, we’ll say crazy bitch ass dog !mutherfucker then we’ll take janet home’n fuck her up the ass just for good measure teach her to hang around with strays! love is a chipped discobiscut more easily disolved in water than shared between two. dead streets at dawn our dreams walk these empty highways before we wake we spend an eternity wishing we had never come here dead streets at dawn cautherised by the sun all the old wounds are closed and we may carry on

Ringing the Changes If I had a hammer If I had a hammer & cellphone I would ring the changes, I would walk in on the president demanding a precident : accending the whitewash & chamber the cabinet I would (if i minute the bullets sponsor the taxis if i tar the arterial retar the arterial bypass of the soul I would find the heart kindless , red bag of pipes & LCD racing the changing tune of our times from a discordant hole in the ground, I would ring a hammer down, ring a hammer down on Rands and Copper farthings, talking to God on an 0860 broken reception & A kettle of bones, I would rerun these things until the tape bent until not one note lay taped to the layman’s whistle we could score our penalties

on the asphalt

final - we could ring the changes harrow the Substitutes round&round the blistered barrel we could spin the disease from the referee’s Raffle & redcard the motherfucker ! ! !

If I had a hammer & satellite dish I would chunk the moon i.would Scoff the sun, I would spill the silver platter for one Day brung in Gold

HP Sauce Life is not easy – sometimes we question (…tastes just like chicken…

His Present Dilemna: we are losing faith in our own lack of miracles – who can bring the tuna fish back, Viscious monsters from the deep?

20,000 years down the line we are Still waiting for the truth from the Horses mouth, Leave such things a token gesture of the Sunday Company picnic daddy’s new policy endoresent keep us safe and help mommy buy a new wardrobe, Save the cheese & pass the HP Sauce please Bless ed in the grace of His Presents tell me why does God come only through you and who’s Bhudda, friend or Rival to the gross effections of the farther Im having some trouble with the teaching, trying so hard to splice your ego clean from the divine Ive been drinking water all these years and you’ve been offering wine Il sure decline – pls pass the HP Sauce and Ill be fine – dry toast and locust honey and primer Whole days spent repenting on the TV Recliner you’ve got to sift through the Lamb to find the bones sometimes

Sectional title

oiling the street in police, Nothing has changes the way change stays the same across all boundaries (no matter their colour or locale) slicing dicing cat & micing swollen birth of people lingering on corners in corners calling the night by its own name Lucky packet dollars end in french quarters courting aids sex and social workers who walk the endless city aimlessly avoiding each other this billof rights this clean bill of health and functional title, sign here this bill for service, billing at this rate, this figure to be settled all along the bottom line(s) this doctor on call never at home (leave a message @ the tone‌ this man with a plan with a gun with a still lurking stare, never there

Sectional title, No. 1035 borne on the prinicpal client at terms the length of the sentence decided by germs No guns to the funeral pls no misery for more than the price we have paid Less the cost of another 10 year old getting laid by her dad things in the heart of the slum aint so worse the cost of a plot at the end of a road is alittle less than a room at the sands a slight more peaceful than otherwise planned your very own, earned small piece of land why linger in suburbia when you can shoot up through to the other–side, sink your cock into this or that favourite centrefold (hell‌ she don even need be pretty as long as she lets me grab a bit o titty‌ I think Ill stick to drinking, swilling in an ocean where all the monsters come ashore to dance around the bon fire

debt collector wars going on man cannot stop it, Life is people burn for someone elses sin every second minute every other sunday satan grabs the pulpit and fucks the clergy‌ the church is a home for red cross emergencies, no son of mine would ever stand alone, unless he so chose to make a decent name for himself debtfree living in the Newwworld – I can almost smell these roses under the spread of manure Life is Living cost me something I can never repay indebtedness crawling along my skin like poison – red lines under everything Ive ever written death happening disease rife, but this is still a pleasant Life one worth having, though not so sure of the after-thing a bit complicated a bit selfish to collect debt out stood, wars going on Nothing can stop man kind words not with out salt, or waiting three days in the sun for no reason Life is, Spread the good food, huntergatherer debtcollector

the weight of a talent And great hail from heaven fell upon men, each hailstone about the weight of a talent Rev. 16: 21

Walking cracks in tiles, polishing sharp edges with hiking socks, though there’s not a single mountain in this airbrick box – a 1290 day walk begins with a single heartbeat – unable to stillit this marathon monk pacing a tomb, trying to understand the death of where he began fasting through the bitternes, one man against inevitable resisitance – can he master the monster in him and find the reason to Love safe and unconquered in the arms of God can we wrest with these weapons at our breast the beauty from the beast without dropping our discretion at the base of the tower toppled and delivered in negotiation –truth in a package undisguised and indistinguishable, hate from entropy, marvel from religion –dirt from fruit ? the weight of a talent is often found by measuring many things, off and against the where and the whenst coming upwith coal from blackholes, unable to wait for the lights cameras handcuff s

Bible Load

shoot my load and short my fuse lease the horde of hell on those few who think they art as brave as some who arnt wise enough to reckon Im above my fellow brethren, while deep below I lurk in truly lost forgotten murk you would seek me here, in dirt cast your makeshift fist and punch a rounded hole in it. cut down each and every tree, deny even the animals shade, walk everywhere & go nowhere from one pool of sucking mud to another beach yourselves on desert planes and congratulate a change in tides to replace your gills with bribes and lists of debts on the otherside shoot my load in to the fleeing desert horde – mu ja mutha–fucka !

Here’s your fucking Bible code – your frequent voyager miles redeemed see you in Hell from the edge of the sea, where we retrieve victory off the end of a tomyhawk missill

afghanistani cricket

afghanistani cricket moscow in goals american foot–ball sell-out shows, No-one goes tothe Movies any more we stay home and watch CNN… afghanistani cricket 11 chosen tickets to Lords, where the Queen will watch, drink her scotch, sink in a hole in 1 as I have always said – level the playing fields…

–afghanistani cricket preparing the wicket Heavy Roller, please (no water for a week anti-nutrinos for too few heros in the mix

african son

I am south african.

I always will be african.

It is my own Dark Continent too.

I had a dream of africa, I was no more than a kid A youngster with no where to travel But these lands of my birth, this graveyard of my pasture; my tenture strung out before me like a lazy river A predator lying in subsaharan shade.

Beyond the sun, My africa! you settle into evening as the heart would settle into sorrow, No tears are shed for tomorrow yet your anger flares Red and glistening the sweat of many nations pulling you back from darkness.

Beyond the sun, your night My africa!

We are swollen with joy, a new life coloured the blood of soil The dirty cities and your sins cast in the tin foil fallacies of White Prophets? who speak of your desert as men already tired of the sun Their eyes show no more fire than embers before morning

A sleeping Lion stirs The morning call of a caracal feeding on an early bird Africa! awake and dreaming The ppl have risen out of holes No longer afraid No greater distance would they travel for you than nearing the end of a journey still young and strong and brave They have stretched out their hands hate and a penetrable hunger for the sane shallow motion of the ocean forging land from the narrow basins of history out of which our clothes and our skins have been starched for fear of difference.

Africa! my dark sun! you walk in your own shadow only Open your eyes and see yourself standing Unafraid But trembling on the edge of a new birth and beginning Africa!

The middle path down which all men will one day travel.

Closing the day

Closing the Day with Lager, he who has no cattle for a home A knuckle-trinklet biding time between marriage My head in my talons I close the day, I chew through the iron afternoon - slow with deliberate care I pick the pieces through, chance on chance skimming the grief off a wound, clotting the memories in ink I dance on a rubber leg I sing to the jackal moon underneath on a page, Closing the Day whereever I have been , remain acceremonious of the sun The night it must Begun The child is nigh, The animal closes The warrior circles above, we release the horison from Hell’s Bourbon

90

PRESS

DRUK

Im a numbers man usually, but tonight I ride the train, Algoa Express from Jhb to Alicedale then Grahamstown, a travelling man – the prodigal gypsy PRESS

DRUK

Ido – and the heavy drone of station platform noise, people struggling with luggage but Iam a tortoise with my self upon myback, I help them, try to haul bags through the open window Greet Qeqe, eastern province cricketer in my cabin, we discuss briefly many things then he goes looking for women he saw who also live in PE, I stay well now I stay recheck the padlocks on the Zippers of my rucksack, try and make myself comfortable, an endless task; Maybe this time Ill succeed, lookingforward.dot. communication, is a hard thing, something fromwhich we are all suffering, but I do not think this then, then I am in two minds about a voyage – the festival, of words and otherthings most of which I may miss due to a propensity to drink and try avoid not meeting ppl, people at least, some of them.

PRESS

DRUnK

I know tonight once I begin drinking to the rhythm of the train flying along the tracks the way a racked bird would, this window, or one quite like it will stay open as I stand and appreciate the lie of this our land, thinking maybe about eric., or trying not to who was thrown off the transnatal, too stabbed and robbed, but hey, this is africa – we took our chances by Just being born, do you know what I mean? (all living should make life exciting – dying evenmoreso

PRESS

DRUK

poetry in motion – knowledge is everything Thanksto: die Suidafrikaanse Spoorlugdiens southafrican railways bring my iewers daarna toe, dan terug weer huistoe onverlore tevrede Phillip arrives with his takkies bag breeker accent and hauntings (or memories of Rehab. Ses it was six weex, seven thousand rand he has a business he repairs houses but he is also an alcoholic, and who I am to Judge, his brash intrusion is quietend hopefully with the Vodka he hauls occasionally out of his kit. I decide early–on that I will buy him a drink if the opportunity arises, not cos Im a cunt but Im doing him a favour, hanging around with the guy if he doesn’t pass-out is gonna be a tedious effort of keeping his bonehead racket out from the attention of every sorry sap on board, & wotdoyukno? wotkenyudo ?

PRESS (ticketnote

FUCKING DRUK? no smoking is allowed on shozaloza meyl

The Cop gets on in Bloemies, all glasses besembek moustache holiday Khakies Later, him on route briefly to Noupoort Noupoort ?

Nou fuckingPoort ?

Nou Im smoking marijuana in the lastcabin cubicle, speaking to Chris & Nicki on my new cellphone, fuck Vodacom! almost religious, Mobile Telephone Networks are all a load a crock o shite but then you know – ppl have to talk to eachother might as well make the most of it while you still can

PRESS (on) DRUKbuttons dial-ing (ring, static/alphameltdown… ringring -ing conversation, great laughs, train in the background making itself heard CallBarring – no number left and the phone then switched-off forgotten for the whole week, parents phone once and luckily, but other thanthat they were worried when I didn’t return all of their calls later on – sometimes I can be a callous shirker of responsibility, while pretending simultaneously to be a hipocrit, Mary speaks to me, Later in Res I write “smoke marijhuana religiously and not without reason – it saves me from blasphemy, ‘although we both know that isnt entirely true, Just a habit, forming situation scenario – peer pressure?

Later, before and after Col. Kantoor Willem Opperman -smoking with the highschool leavers, recent childhood Graduates – the band, one emeshed looking dude on guitar, arb pictures pasted all on the wooden thing, another, the leader Later, bearing the Cop to come and ask for some more, trying to write the lyrics; I name DRUSS– PREK, yea that fucking cop – what a fucking PRICK… – In the Book “The Legend, by Gemmel, ‘they just bought out of pure instinct or obscure principal, and believe me when I say “I am a poet The Cabin where we smoked in (yegods –believe that? nowonder the cop was on to us… by this time I was quite but still standing as I always do, so not giving a fuck ) eventhough I cant seem to get the song going, or completed – I honestly dont know which – muse comes and goes – maybe the dude with the lyrics, I forget his name now, must come to know this on his own, what can I offer? what do I know of these things – noLove was lost in the songs to me – my words were not welcome, swept away on the wind

PRESS

DRUK

Noupoort Opperman leaves: Phillip had awoken, “WHo the Pfhuck is this?

–Opperman -troops, phought in Cisko and against the Revofucking-lution- whogi’es a fuck? Inow tell him, suddenly not in the mood for any more shit from another mutherfucker on this well, interesting journey –hmmm? Whot is youR Number?

I ask him, jokingly, sportingly, interrofucking-tagonistically…

He shows his badge his gun, “dumb-dumb bullets? he runs his hands down the side of a rusting arrogance -wanker with a pelletgun Reprosentative of another dead era, dying with the bodies you sported in the streets, Luckily… you leave before more damage can be done to shimmer our Rainbow, Back where you belong, you Beast, you animal of the Land Humanity missed out somewhere in your ancestry, you would call me Kaffir-Lover, If I gave you that chance but Nou POORT The rest of the voyage of south african discovery is largely un eventful which is the first thing I see on today to make me want to smile, I drink and DRUNK on the landscape, the cold-air whipping about me, balanced on my swaying feet against the frozen vinyel chipboard – the cabinwalls, like the Res/ REZ walls, paper thin walls of stone letting the nighttime through/voices actions even very slight motions of the holiday makers @ emptyVarsity Dormitories, holding the blankets up so as to not to make a noise while masturbating, writing scratching notes to myself in the silence, getting strange looks in the morning, But for now, the train draggs relentlessly on, haulled along by electrical charge, some weird chemistry, no heat and bad plumbing low PRESSure

Pipes,

PRESS

DRUK

sa patent

634932 WIDNEY – who the-fuck-is? anyway

widney?

Grahamstown looms somewhere in the dark galCauldron Cathedral and cross streets – too many Ghosts Now a refuge for Losstsouls squabbling over words and ways to cage words, a few friends –some met some made Late nights looking for suitable nightclubs, “twitching orange orangutange – poets met out on a limb squabbling over practised banana peels, slam being better than Iam, and we’ll clap when the others comeon. come-on? Missing all the shows of everyone else jacking up my PC to a hole in the floor and strutting my integrity, the man with a heart for history, without a hope in hell surprise surprise the whole journey centered on wherever my eyes, a lonely feast however, time soon passed PRESS backagain

DRUK

Leaving love’s lost foal, trailing the image a flash and a flicker of pheromone, finding the truth too hard to lie about but getting it in anyway, Training the thought of a girl like sport, Shot the game, then I came?

Left her looking elsewhere first – strange boy…

PRESS DRUK no fuss tonight I travel with poets – we discuss southafrica and the world in the BJ’s Dining car angifi an me oupa in the carriage selling Pyramid Scheme Supplement dreams to unsupple people in 53 countries ! but an african climate –the hungry stomach is not suitable for membership, mielies – Ripe sunburnt mielies or meal at McDonalds, who needs starving children when you have GNLD or G7 all good spenders goto heaven no fuss no furnace no water in the bathroom and young blackkids travelling short distances between stations – asking me to look for Caledon? Noupoort? not again thistime the Lion, brave from the victory which was no victory suffers no thorn nor spear no bereavement – the world is acceptable for these few moments feeling calmly alive without having to: Fight (without fighting, Love (without loving, light without firing entire fields of men? don worry im on it – like a leopard on spots I leave angifi, dreams of Reevolution! in the quiet comfort of the cabin high, I step to the window of the tephlon corridor, Iron like a lion no fuss

PRESS

DRUK

open the already open moon riding12o highabove, deepblue channels of earth drifting past in wind edged white tipt strips, different places kept members of the same race trying to draw the same face on all their children failing miserably, one could add –but why PRESSs on steady metal I enjoy the roller coaster appeal, hearty meal and movement Night has a memory of its own – to watch to feel it pass not on its lone some aware PRESSs–on SSsteam and mist lift off your wheels and shifts standing in 01h45

DONKERPOORT

fog of your breath mingling and milling with train breath mixing during this strange stop in the middle of nowhere with Darkness, slow cold seeping close making brief introductions becoming ready friends

PRESS DRUK time to sleep no water to clean your eyes – sleeping with them in tomorrow morning PRESS drr..rukkkK window stuck –colddd Joburg Ice Glitters off everything, from cars to children like gold – litter clatters off the mindump a forgotten thought you came back to get away from, all the pretty plastic trash colours shine in sharp yellow morning PRESS DRUK window needs cleaning Cabin and carriage clear out in station fashion slow – man with a tortoise and clear limp seen heading into city

DRUnning into civil–liesation SStrangely an hour later your journey is ended on a bus at home at last

end of July the Still Cold of Jhb winter Reaching with thin finger s through clothing through everything, touching the hollow of my bones with a whispering silence cuts like a bloodied knife – without violence Her dark hand hidden in the folds of a navy cloak around a ruby dagger her mist and figureless angel lurking in entry ways and tunnels beneath graveyards where the cold folk go, to get a way from it all, the warmth of the saints protect them–from this place where they found none,for there are none, no longer the Still Cold of Jhb winter love was less than summer cost though I can still see in her eyes my staged down fall stepped like a leaf in slow decent the aching and the trembling a seedling pushing upagainst the frost

tragic surface of the pool

sitting quietly struggling with the creepy afternoon watching over my shoulder blades of grass shooting through the canopy of leaves that firstthaw of bloom shedding slight yellow petals to all fair corners of the yard – this years seed will find for once new life beyond the walls of chance that have errupted so casually around everything and the small lives of insects following the wind that end abruptly in this large pool of water Saving as much as I can before turning over the challenge and seeking retreat from this hectic turbulence of things struggling dearly to disentangle truth from the slow floundering panic – captured fast in a vast miniscus grappling with the debris of everyone elses sinking ships – the disenstended sting of a dead bee come out carefully in defence against something larger than yesterdays wasp in this bed of flowery pretense the legs of things too small to care dangle and drag calmly aware of no errant attack from the deep the thoats were dry but the wings got wet – after that its any one elses bet

the short and rather uncomplicated life of a bait–size prawn

the Living hook one could speak Leaves less to be desired from the fish than wild Life enthusiast or could it be said that both in their wisdom should have fled – this tragic fate of a bait-size prawn in my hand – the clippers torn tossed as chum to gather some the metal bucket out I pluck – 1-o-1 ways to bait a hook & here I am faced with it, sorry bud, from me to you – it’s the fish, you see…? in through the arse and clean through the breast stick it through the head a citeanous crunch as we prep for lunch the boat yawns the rod bends the short and rather uncomplicated life of another bait–size prawn

Butterflye & Scarecrowe

Emptyfield scattered in skeleton scarecrow, & single butterfly crow Gentle as a broken word upon the dustbed of Foreveropeneyes (What touching curse has beauty borne unto such a tortured mockery.) Skeleton skarecrow (& Butterfly Crowe.. Mighty dowse the settling wind for Long has it been travelling and Great has gone the reach By the bit agrowe into the melaye of Eternity washed upon the Hourpleign. (and thus( into the Pre’senceing )of all things) known down upon the grand right undertaking, one be’mused unto the strung and flaking rack of silence. most comely jack o’lanterns.

What slow and hammered wheeding could such a terrible wheel not pass along on saturn, not spoke nor railing?

Must now into the 2end fromonce, & What cloth of bone has you again borne’upon the rawshoulder, Chalky undername (Charcoalstamp of the Rathen Wars) NowUntold‘to where all angels bid return, in times of Black and Blessed need an Apprentice seeking Master. From the harvestime has come, head hung and failed (over some spoiling strange and settling victory of death) An’onto the killingground forsee’Where the Muster of AlBe Contest the Right of the fallen to back‘Up (& disembowl).

The sun turns above the sky below Around each of six crows wheeling in twelve Restless,Endless wings of flight.

But the moon could never come for Scarecrowe, would Beady stars alight upon his blistered yoke and beam, the blackflutteryng claws of laughter & the sight of buttoneyes gravely staring in bittere silence out’on thunder heavy with stitchlipd howling, Brings but another version of the sun drowned down onto the graveland; & from the puppeting birds the mimiricks cry, Redflowering taste and Soft brushing beaks prowl the emptyheaded sockets of a shameface guardian, wallowed and halrowed in the gorgeous waste of favour.

Reaching to the Divine

No patron of the saints , No saviour of the Dead, Nothing Divine, No Nothing of interest Here – pls leave and carry on good fellow Nothing Incarnate , Nothing resurrect – pls jesus save this dying man pls spare his wretched soul I have Nothing to Declare but all I carry still I have not let it any go I have not faltered once but all the way was weary and I have failed to find something that could soothe my mind.

I found strangeness reaching to the divine and yes, I could not put it down again Could not Loose it – Nothing else could be losst I have everything to Declare – I taste my own Design – the fallacy of humanity that any man is equal to the task that must be the first lie that found me reaching to Divinity, without a hope in Hell thinking that infinity would somehow smooth the fold hold me in esteemed regard, and thus relinguish the valour I Diminish merely pretense the Hero, accepting full Honour and casualty – the roll call of reality sends you to the back of the Q once again, unannounced yet known by name to those who look in your Direction I remember every face, every line and shade every word is heard first in great halls, then the echoes of shadows, one messenger surviving and bleeding hoping to be met without that same regret Dashed hope faster than flying arrows past the final gate onto that endless stretch where thoughts and fears combine to form a Doubt like None has come Bfore

Reaching to the divine – still I cannot find that simple crossing back devide that means I have begun, out the darkness from a place where I can see the sun return my friend they call of me I thought I was but Destiny has taken me again and forced my hand and feet along some path I cannot see, Nor feel, Nor touch these levelled fields – how was I to know that this is where we all would go? once the snow had settled and the ice thawed awed by the marvel and the mystery, The Dice – Landed 6’s up and Labled Reaching to the Divine, Saddled to the Majesty of knowing nothing and content Flogging dead horses that were meant to Mould, picking bones with your teeth tormenting the Devil with taunt and a travel to the Deep, where it seeps through where the wounds are real, and the agony a jealousy where good souls turned from the blinding truth burn as well as the bad

Endless Reflections for Levannah

We could roll the rune, Once or two (& I’m still not sure what it’s going/gone to do?

How small stones could not help the way I feel driven to smaller and smaller places away from all else til all I can do Is look at myself.

I do not like what I need to see. endless reflections of someone watching over me Is everything always this silent, or is it only me? endless questions – am I the only one asking and why do they look so surprised to see me being forthright is not really my birthright but I’ve been walked all over and now Im cross – I know taking care of them is not the only answer re-inventing the Box – the Original Problem I was hunting cold places for ways to steal the warmth, finding few hearts willing to trade those secrets Who could blame me, you say? and I stop to start counting.

Lissard in a Blissard – scaly eyes flicker snow crested dunes down which I slide in avalanche – coat hanger crowd round which I perch my sharpest claws jabber through my sharkish jaws these oft torn words , blood and worse Endless Repetitions – whereever we go Ive seen a silver rabbit running down a silver hole Ive wished upon the moon once more than I can tell how do we get so lost when we started out so well?

some questions have issues of their own (we beg to differ and I tend to doubt that any of this shite will sort it self out) We can toss the Tarot, another hasty salad for the stew Im in – for the ugliness that’s brewing not so deep within, (once before I suppose Ill cross that door when I come to it while the world asleeps and I awake as death To tremor on the edge of the field like some vast harvest waiting to weep the sigh of the scythe to master the art of the craft and be stilled in the essence of a morning I will never wake to see, Gone Lost looking in the mirrors of eternity Shattered or broken dreams are often best left unspoken the way of the wind is fleeting the time it takes to leave Circles of autumn write themselves Winter threatens the desert again Endless Rhetoric – why do we want for answers when do the good fairies come Is that a horse a dog a cow blotting out the sun?

Passing Through in memory of Chris Pinkus the best are the first to go are there no easy lessons in this world?

I find your memory harder to carry than the friendship you gave freely without cost your greater virtue bringing laughter to the lost & a place of rest when weary I could stop for a drink this makes me think the worst that can happen has already happened, although I know truly the worst to come is yet not even be gun how can we justify this bloody congress ? a violent ending to one so young and the friends who bond together trying so hard to be strong so difficult to face the day when to hide you away underground we will carry you from the temple down to the trees and feed you to this earth that holds her children closer than her enemies strangely enough is enough as we get caught between the finger and the trigger our children become the diggers for more than gold less than love on the petty fringes of life where our friends and our angels stand very often alone steady soldiers against the darkness that constantly threatens to overwhelm us when we last saw you you were just passing through you were sleeping though we could not wake you

Post mortem

I threw away my hands where I could no longer hold the world beneath me, I look down, glance around, my feet no longer touch the ground I reach for a dream from out the glimmer of a nightmare finding the seam of an old wound, it was yesterday…

Nothing heals the time between the memory and the mind I threw away my eyes where I could no longer name the sky above me, I christened a vacumn on a carpet of stars for an even sun, Shone my lamp between the Voice and the Wild to see where I had gone, it was nowhere…

Somewhere something finds a shadow to survive I threw away my ghost where I could no longer tame the soul within me, I cut through the butter of my belief to taste unleven bread, I ate, and I ate, and I ate having never been so empty nor so full of myself, it was needless…

Tomorrow drags a new canvass over old numbers

Spiritual Heartache

head trapped in the basement, soul flown with the bird that brought you early warning, Sick and soaring there is no more morning, there is a single afternoon along which this sun is always sliding. Spiritual heartache, where your bones go to grow their own wounds, your life has away of its own you cannot follow– feel the wind turn through torn sails, to mock & flurry what’s the hurry, tomorrow sets out again full of holes man lost in the future –can you ever find him – would you ever know him? Sitting all alone –hand held out at midnight to catch the moon finding the feeling hard to carry, heavy as silence. Light as thunder your thought hides the trace an open grave you cannot cover. Leave it for another…

So begin digging at the beginning – create the great big spaces where dirt drifts downward, under force of gravity we all wear long smiling faces our mouths hung lower in the middle, teeth shine forever in the dark Soon doom will follow & utter a godless hollow holler calling all the champions home, & still I cannot go I do not know that Ive been called, I am standing here allown, to me who seems this world has lost its centre and its coil, we spin with nothing in our head and mud along our arms, the animals have left us now, but we remain the eaten. Spiritual heartache, deserts of bleeding feeling prickly with the horrors of millions in torment, a man in his past who then came to the fountain of age with both hands dripping in youth. Spit of my years over this flame, I am doing well, I am doing…

The Dark Side of the Muse the many faces of a double-sided coin face me, Intoned, enTOMbed, enlivend hastened toward a new beginning – the showering of blessings, a painfulled tragedy a comedy in parts, in parts in parts and members dismembering disremembering the moment it all became so marvelously clear so unparalleld an orbit that ran the darkside through and through, and through She came to me I withdrew the longest blade, and slew O’Lord, for what we are about to forgive make us truly thankless, for ourown sake, amen almen allmen all men and those of you who’re women too, and women too, and women, always and forever Hear, here the words inside of you, Listen to your heart &Be kind to your grievances, and injustices Living is littered with the chaos of human progression Our disease is spread, Our fall has left us, our fall will taken us many calculated efforts to engineer this conspiracy of man, it is overwhelming. itis overpowering it s alempowering, corruption and deception and for3 years he has waded through the cessant of the pit , the fog of the fury, belied in him a gentle soothing of the eyes (. all but nondescript He came upon a fount in the garden of redemption where allatonce these clouds of emotion which have plagued me, yaey! in many forms Lifted, and I could see, I saw allaround me signs of incipant growth Sickend by allof this he turned and stumbled like a moralbeing through newfound consciousness, a new conscience , enlightenment of being, through the torid storm and , through and through O I cannot really remembered how many times I have returned and returned, returned again from the darkside of the Muse ; how I have failed in beauty to swore on my own significance.

Love in the shadows for eva Roses, cheeks spirit perfume I am in the bloom of her mind made all the more fine, I am divine & the shadows wrap around in welcome shine, two silvery forms become entwined delighted in our souls each longing for the coming of temple I would bring Lightning to the wedding of our Love, I would hold you on a cloud and declare from up above –this is the fine form of woman /Heaven the maid laid bare, this is the key to the lock to the empire, the history of the heart of the world, Like a man both possessed and pure I would scour this earth to find a safe and peaceful place for the entire human race Roses & creme –in my life lies a dream on the eve of a dawn I see bowers of apples towers of lovers lining the streets Cleaning the Shadows of Secrets I have filled on the taste of your sweet concession, I am harnessed to the sway of your stride, each moment spent with you along side hip to hip, lip to lip glorious touch to the sensuous slipping over and into, the softly slowly endless rhythm of sun into star into dont know where we are so lost in you my Love…

angel chain

no swearing in the corridors Leave your chips off your shoulders while you shuffle in single file down toward the firepit make your selves useful bemoan your approval– painthreshold tolerance receipt step lovely over coals beneath the feet no cursing after curfew lower order minions curtail sleeping on calvaries nails –some pleasures could be seen as a great disrespect even in this carnal fit of rage heart’s pumping blood rushing iron swilling holes of air into buckets of thought, that spilt when swept aside by life’s pride & joy Nothing good could come of it – beceilinged by angels surroundd in whores no sweating in the corridors, dripping blood on the floors – once we’ve tied you up in knots & got you crawling up the walls we’ll ask intriguing questionson those answers you got wrong

Pisceas Escargot

now you’ve opened the gate of hate flood the wasteland – make haste why wait? there was nothing here to start with nothing left behind spineless and chilling – rainy desert Im about realism nothing prettier t han the flower – and wherein lies t he power – vestige and youth bloodied becometh something healed & tunnel led nowyouve rinsed and cleand soil foil oil proper penguins silt killt – felt nothing fox is the scariest creature in the desert, even the side– on Snake silt fillt – brought nothing egypt has buried her Kings tonight, here as yet we know Nothing Still lakes still hearts the earth has moved but slow in her Waking I am open there is nothing Left tohide

No work

New money for No work – black exec in a white merc. nearby in the trailer park pale kids apricot faces stare down police on street corners a distant housing development looms largely in the future people walk to work in dirt ride home in the rain, carting their bodies to and forth, earning respect, the right to credit purchase. counterfeit identity in the interests of humanity – Bullshit. I want a lawyer (and the state to provide –for it, a helicopter (preferable: one with wheels, one getaway stunt kite flyer, & a million dollars – unmarked bills No-one is willing to attempt the obvious, rob the righteous, fell the fools, settle for beautiful women, whenever. alone in my apartment, although Ive left the hate outside, smiling teeth cleanse the night of my sins. I will have to kill again to finish this sentence…

–I smell blood in my bones

Return to Swine

too many noodles

too many noodles – too many early mornings on an alchoholic beverage, Im lying in wait for something better hoping it never comes, pissing through the sink of an overeager life left haunting the passage of time, remnants of a boy too busy with pity 2 worry too many noodels – no single models the 2am hungering for someone, and neglect burning with a yearning that had you failing yearsago, all the jealous falacies, anti– social tendencies hold you in place at the back of the race for vanity , the human idol charities bitter acceptable bloodlust and coppery services for the mice in your machinery sweep the stakes clean of aiding and abetting Loves last and useless criminal –2mani noodles – too much Rape and shame offskirt vigilanties dishing out the blame to City soup-kitchens rusted with selflessness, too tacky between the sheets, sticky along the streets, slip glued gears tighten the tension ‘tween pleasure and progress, stirring this shit together till it knits, and in one foul swoop we become food for thought Living on the litter of industry glass plastic cases for our eyes too many noodles – & asleeples reality

too many bad dreams

Disclaimer

thank-you for your opinion. pls accept my humble apologies for shaking your fragile reality. it really is a big bad ass world when nasty ppl like my self can come along and ruin that fake happy feeling you were baskin inone of the world’s true innocents. Something should be done about this I know you think, you have all the solutions I will be glad to assist in Im plementing some of your more resourceful answers, plans and Schemes that don’t draw on everyone else’s dream. I assure you your Vindication of my actions is a bright orbiting body in the Corpus of all I have Come to expect from the narrow minded histocracy that surrounds our Blind plunge forward. though my words tally as cold waters in the showers of the sane, I promise in future all the warmth I could not lever on my 1st. attempt. With gods good grace Ill keep on trying to satisfy all the stoical minds in this great big rompous you call the elevated function of man– It is with deep regret however that I need decline the retributive request that I lay down my pen and find me some rest. Granted it is a Loneli Stay this faraway from your prised contact centre for advanced reason but I must persue this path while your peruse my past, hoping to gleen Some hope from it. That you have not is not my Regret –and in Closing then how I wish you the best of luck in maintaining your struggle along the glorious path we have chosen for higher society. yours sincerely– fx.

two way traffic

WARNING you are now trespassing – please return to the perimeter accesss CAUTION –slow children for office use only No postage stamp required if posted in the Republic of South Africa (otherwise you’re on your own additional interest will be charged on all arrear accounts 0800 hot water advisory service – econoflo dual mark II improved electrics Have you ever considered becoming an organ donor? (care should be taken so that a finger.

WARNING –Restricted area! How is my driving?

Sealed for freshness –coated in strange resin for your protection (can anyone tell me where the f**k itis we re: Heading. blankes – alleen out of order –Slippery when wet pls use next lift) please allow 6 weeks for delivery 21 day money back guarantee (…earn money from home with every stone thrown to learn a valuble lesson while dying pls deposit 25c –pls leave a message at the tone

WARNING – I guard this yard please call Directories for enquires or stay on the line for a trained operator (who will assist you as soon as he she it is available your call is important to us –we value your call is important to us – all our consultants are busy at present you are currently somewhere in a que WARNING – Dan ger gevaar slegs only Class 1 Laser Product (of the ppl. of Taiwan abolish slave labour and support technology 99percent of residents in finland own a mobile fone Before operating please consult the owner’s manual – switch off engine CAUTION – Risk of electric shock – Do not open donot try this @home pls wait for green – keep left pass right enjoy coca cola – life tastes just like welcome to africa – enjoy your stay

its now safe to turn off

suffer little children

,& the world shes torn with war & the mothers are torn with children everywhere there is this crying… the earth is full of holes who swallow legs to the hips the red cross crutches across continents after civilian casualties, calling an end to all sites their tents touch down, people pulling people in barrows, children clutching burning straws black culture captures you 9 months from opening your cunt to the world and those 6 men who would remove their aids through your innocence coochie coochie crushh… nandos chicken, township’s children splitting apart the gene for godfucking entire peoples then returning them to nothing where have we gone ? where is the promised land ? we have been in circles travelling this grey jungle 4 300 years and still our ancestors becry some fate – we might have avoided for the stumbling of the white fuck onto our soil, now there are few but we are much & still suffering How many more, o’Lord ? our wombs are weary & strung, stretched notes are sung from them …

How many more, o’Lord ? black holes in milky eyes scan skies for brighter days

human kindness

do unto others without respect to individual choice or directive make it count if you couldnt be bothered to make it worthwhile people reach out their hands to grasp other peoples plans where no–one knows which way the party goes after the house comes down Do unto others with or without moral intent times are rife with too much Life, do away with what you can’t or dont the streets outside are paved with souls too alive to fend themselves avoiding the inevitable pay ment on presentable proof of debt – – I feel sorry for the aliens who may have to set a precident by killing our president and his cabinet of fools – we’ll be hiking garden tools to final places anger clear on all our faces showing little left to doubt we have figured nothing out

…onslaughter

N onimous ly onslaughter – women and children overboard send the men to ether hell or here after Noon there is another night without succour Sleep on thin rancour angry dreams lift people early into unaccustomed roles bring me another daughter dont slip on the wet tile the tribe waits for an answer the lover of pompeii lies in ripe ash the glowing eyes of solomon lift along the gleam of a blade slick in nomoon light– Rather than return together we have stood divided over everything great wideopen chasms through which we see dark ambitions shine

m’Lord

[over heard conversation… I almost guarantee it’s pretense art for such sake and if one day I find my self under dire scrutiny from above, then I will know such time has come to ownup …] foxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx yes m’Lord wot have you been doing fox nuttin’m’Lord Said Some courageous things all in goodfaith m’Lrd ? yes quite […then well OK – 00 House. what can an Impi do – these days its anybodies war No-one even knows yet wot we’re fighting for, Seems to me you have to lose to win foxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx sorry m’Lord m’Lord… …so much death in the world m’Lord so much death everywhere I look m’Lord here is death m’Lord…? my questions come at silent times I have no right to ask, m’Lord I have no right, m’Lord and yet I persist – it is a classic failing of our species m’Lord…

Not to detract of course from a job well done we know our fingers from our toes and yes well… where that goes. (eh, thanks.

But still we’re all not getting along so well never have really, and its getting a bit crazy down here –some people take what they want m’Lord, might as well as not have all these possessions I know we always whine & you have to Listen to such a lot of shit all the time foxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I know m’Lord the time for praying has come and gone. so quick I ‘mist it, Not by a long chalk however my lines were drawn very fine stepping became a task of not falling walking in idiot’s dream.

I know I should consult my Lawyer, that bastard demon from hell (arn’t they all…?) bought into such a f***************************************** of a contract foxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx yes m’Lord… ?

son of Sam

the western childe, europe’s babe hustled in the rush to fame a chance to figure out his name– the son of Sam missils loaded under arm, Nuclear treaty to dis arm, welcome, son of Sam viscious blood–thirsty gentle man good days follow prosperous ways, Listen to his golden churn of things you should already Learn… the son of Sam, murderous plan to bring It back together again the son of Him without a grain of salt, Looking through bleak deserts at darkglassly son of dam Nation riding the dawn toward the onset of Night– american freedom under closer sight brings us farther from the picture that’s coming up so much clearer in the afterglow

goodnight queen saith to fox come closer creature that I should greet thee fully fully queenie saith fox tis been sometime since thee’th have rhyhmed with in your borders told but wait what yon der sword is that? youve entertained some second paul & found my head unstable, til I fear I step toward it lying on this table what wrong haveI in wisdom spelt the doom of wry becomings– the colonies swept from blacker days than I see rising for me my shoulders itch a plank held through my arms be hind my head, driven into the dust we were – riding into the desert, becoming buddha… sword through my cheek stil I poke fun– a double–sided duplicate

General Rule doesnt matter who you are (who you were… green red yellow black white coloured asian chinese, finish or creed, what coda you adopt or what deed, you attempt to arrest from life that has stolen first your dignity, then mind what matters most was how we lost – and who they were we fought against doesn’t matter who you are what street you sweep what car you crash – what wife you drove to death in first – the abstract oil is of another man, built better for a greater life, happily chosen to Glamour ne’er a glimmer –nor friend Life was tilting for a moment without end, there, in a while you will be giving specific instructions and Im asking that we ne’er had this conversation – now free me There has never been an enemy – it was all a whole world ploy to get you looking through the glasses tinted by the shine of midnight hands – wringing and wringing It was all a large disaster now the sister is waking, she who will then slowly uncoil to round her poles upon us –a giant mistress waking so briefly to change the sheets, turning over anew leaf This is a dark house, but there are darker places still – places where I wouldn’t go – nomore smiling gestures, no ocre on a rose, No it has never really mattered who you are, as a General Rule, we were fucking with your mind –entropy is always so sudden)

Home Stretch

Swaan

wi’ou a name i cou go far, witho a face fo stare oh sheet no written on, tho the’e words alone they kno to shine kno the glisten o the knot to where the sky layn tie, tho their holes reveal their shadow too; lo’ their spaces betwix spaces o places neverbeen, wou tables set fo feeding string the ham o seated guests? more so numbers or thei’ faces li thei voices e’eheard; wha’fo, the eyes !cryout.: go’less voices, go’less ssayers raining prasers fo the players, loosing stones o drowning foes, wye- the litter of a sidewalk mores the crab than rising tide, much the sea as pebbeld land; where’s a sewer stretching bayward marks a level in the sand, the line for craawling toword is neatest close at hand…here! the dawn o new creation wou die cryn in nearest dam. (sg.)

autumn amourye for Rouve

Don’t leave me walk down that dark path don’t leave me walk down that dark path alone Through crossroads buried in the night i’m looking for lights aren’t not stars that my hunger glisten out of reach Though my lantern burning without flame that dimmers on the passing glow I trust the circle of my life to bring me back and from the darkness into the Love you light The place I’ve seen hung against the black sight as the wind spread its furlong wings through trees We could carry it back from the desolate places in a hurried bucket of bleached soil we could show our kissing palms to the sun When the dead leaves dance uneath the new moon I would believe you you could never leave me, then.

Magdelane?

For a vestige Protectorate hidden halfway through the desert, & I’m several leagues into it now, a shimmering perimeter a burden of ceaseless days in sandswept exile.

“Where is the Poem, DesertOne & what are the readings? Over.”

Dry status & terminal markings Blessed interdiction, voice silent & like rain.

Who would have sought?

Band & Body, a thundercloud slowly rolled and unheard As a lowland culpability practises Raising clouds to an adult mentality I repeat. Done would, as pland Scope the vegetable intelligence through for signs For virtue stored in thorns & holy cactus.

For an Ageless waite or a gifted patience wood ponder, graceous in the absence of an honourable display; the ceaseless fire of our heart’s minstril tome selfless in the mercy of this cold earthen – “y’do? i think i had to lose myself to find it, y’kno” it has Angel in the attic, it has Devel down the stair it has Latern from the rafter letting carbon to the air, It has love on tap where even weather never wound its way through casual conversation “the sun was a strip of curing leather, i found the journey rather tiresome how the open sky closes down upon the land somewhile, “i gathered myself around the weeping of my wounds & Rather than beat about the bush, farther than that we set it to burn and made us some tee Heated in a single cusp of fallacy.

Dignity’s Daughter

Like a babe still suckled to the bitter tit, Like a fly in the house of the Lord Like the brilliance of the sun as it plays in curdled milk, and the dazzle of the Devil in her eyes Feast the ferment, Feast the fruit This summer’s rot, The vermin route; On a ship on a journey Through the darker night, The tilling of the hollow man Along the skirt of dawn Alo’ there glistens a sigh of dew a whisper a watered appetite a blistered leaf ahung for the dupe of saintly things.

Dunn Khaya

I should Know have I not been to your ancestral home along the moat of the Southern River strung we have walked the shallows each in our shadows past wetting our dredds on opposite ends Have we not stolen from each other? me casa e su cetra../soaping the shores in stranger colours than these Sharing impossible gifts across the bridges we came torches and brands in hands on hearts On open flowing waters run off facing slopes I should Know our valleys are one Our story a crossing of oceans our promise the parting of Canaan.

I should KnowSeverence in a clarity comes closer than truth and a unity in an urn of Rememberance.

ihland o masehl

thaey spiedhers in my flatt thay jus’ doehn fuhken work ! ivs hired them from satahn soit seems st’ gies em a blinkin chahns… an they taek a leg; ahh manna a flyen fu’thing s,then futtering in the shadows, s’christ i goa killem maselh, waht you think aeyh..? tht i jus teykit sitten dowhn? fuk that pulleng masehl out‘t bed sli’k pulleng masehl out t the grave f hav t liv anotha day fu.gon a livit mhaway. .then i go t make t leave this cave tha has crasht down on meh push mh bledding bones tgethe an thn along the street wihth spade o sorts, t hav evryone seeking t lissen t mhmost terrible screech o brooms? nuhwayy fukehn fuk that aswel, thernt no gladly for this crosseyd bear. go t take mhlooks mhfaces mhdeeds out t the ocean an swim til i claym a desert iland fo masehl an fo masohl alone somewehr hihden in ahl that water.

anteloupe

Comes the challenge whol’y held, fast from preconception fought My evernought. Pray, what victim of the welcome sought in these bloody hands, and My every eyesore Dashed on virtue that came never crashed.

Nor duly down nor broken, no rust along the iron rib Nor cage of my design, but open through burnished lips of life, Come spoken. in Litres of commisery, commemorate that sandy place the tarnished and that polished on the skin of fear On the marrow of a man and on the bone of macadam set your roses into ready stone, you cast your tears in many more a history than the shedding of these growing years.

Stand firm upon this wettend mound, ripe your joyous symphony from the weakend oath; more loath and cold the single note of stars, than plural when the sun in steady rise and warm, Your heart, Your spirit free in wire taught then the burn of founding day.

As rain and cosmos come, Some right time for every man in vested breath to spell his seeking engine thrown, as One when done.

Lady Cadaver

Life is Lady Cadaver, in disguise.

Twisted thorns lay ope her eyes, To Desolate and Waste, children of Apocalypse.

Into her arms, and fated bossom We fold, and wound like wired scarred and succour’d, spectres, we rattle in her manacle, our shackled voices in the hold.

How welcome we are, and treated With the hope of every guest, we are defeat’d, for life is lady & lover cadaver, in respite her ceremonial garb, She is the laquer beneath; Every inch the wood that cries her name, in fell, bitter sap.

Mortified in whistful ways, petrified in sacred groves, of would become Stone, and dread at the hard of it; we settle in the wait of her fertile winter, a season that never comes.

Life is Lady Cadaver, in her mound are the bones of our ancestor’d made humble; whence proud …?

Immortal Effigy we’re calling it silver remembering gold holding our mudstone out to be sold, we’re handing our faces down off the racks up to the sky in hessian sacks living in penultimate shame any end is the sweeter end living in penultimate shame death could be an only glory strung in the middle of our plastic fate the notes of our future fall into place, the cost of deception is coloured with grace like black stars of heaven shon’on the black slate living in penultimate shame any hope is a shallow one living in penultimate shame death could be an only hope death could be an only sun nothing is saved and nothing is said everything’s numbered in letters of red, nothing is saved and nothing is left everything’s measured in treasures of theft living in penultimate shame death could be, divine and remedy death could be ‘the only happy memory of oursouls, immortal effigy

exeunt

Theoros, my friend, step away; Step away a moment, I say…

How dread is your feeling now? deep and still; how swirl the angels at your feet, tethered to the brink and a clustered beginning, How fall the bricks together of a lonely wall on the sidewalk of life.

A black jesus on the rocks (not that this land has felled a flock – my hands were tied in this, blackened in multiplicity; a sleepless arch in the human temple dabbling in pantomime, the flaming of a broached hunger chewing houses and hearts.

The mortar of compulsion, scene from above: a collision of birds at high altitude dropping feathers to the sand, a screech of wings and the grace of broken pride, my twisted countenance, ergo: a single trapping to the bitterness of a madman’s passion for madness, and the tish! of sheet music sung over concrete by a silent choir; a lightning frame of blistered bone and hobbled skin hauling dead men to water that they may think… life is once a pleasant thing turned twice upon a twisted figurine of soul, an assortment of lost goods wound in brown paper strapping to a short wire post. an etching in the dust, my friend; my friend caught between the curtain and the crust, can we see what see we must? can we stoke the fire down, and hold the dawn in both hands like a nugget in the shell of a worm?

In the cripple’s dream of sheltered sands I ran my blood through fingers fenced and tagged as toes, I stood upon the shores of a toothless land, a knotted ball of pity and sacred scars; this acred beast beneath the furied sun and moon’s hollow glow. How the night breeds a journey’s longing, how these days have held me so….

Reference document: 876.fox.thirdword.2007Š www.tshirtterrorist.co.za