Bones To Bury

flight over the himalayas.  worlding unapproachably on the cliff edges
thwart the inside-outside of wailing and singing.
broken bottles crackling smaller underfoot; it’s almost a white christmas
Remmy, I’m going.  Rems old chap I’m slipping back into the water.
I’m devolving my friend, and my gills are twitching for the ocean currents.
C’mon and cast the nets and pull some mermaids from the depths.
sirens whailing as their fortunes flip; roles reversed.

—-

let’s grow into something leafier, taller, streching for the sun…
in pleasant flowing gestures across a field of constellations
to catch breaths and kisses cornered through playful turns
and paint some colour on your cheeks.

—-

the seat shakes as we surge forward, up the runway.  cleave the sky and nestle through clouds.  always sunny up here, till the mauve bleeds slowly from the day; protracted, supernaturally, in the gap between worlds.

far back in the past a fallback to my ancestors.

my ancestor of 5 minutes ago, stumbling blindly out the door and bequeaving me whatever was laying behind him.

my proto-caveman of 3 years ago, banging days together optimistically.  dies over the fire he started playing with fucking matches.

I’ll go no further back.  refuse the poor mongrels and write postcards to the new me.  god forbid; more children tumbling from now into unending playful possibilities.
they’re mocking me with good-natured cheekiness, irreverence for this and that Once apon a Time.

sometimes it’s probably healthiest to sit back and remember the day you first met your
obligations.

———————————-

It takes some willpower to swerve before we collide but we do it.  blind fear for the unknown.  it’s an uncomfortable mess afterwards and we pick ourselves up and just slink away with as much grace as we can muster.

———————————-

trajectories faltering.  vapour trails diverging around points on the ground.

smuggle in some solitude; paperback crescendos in the darkness.

educated prime producer, take hold of me and please don’t squeeze
lips chapped from slow dancing and biting.
the foresntics of the evening are not back from the lab yet, but shall we just assume?

waltzing pillow-huggers, pillow-shaggers all, everyone.
look me in the eye and tell me any bay in a storm.  any sheltering, doona-burrow in the thrashing toothing gale outside.

i’m made for it after all.  more attention and affection, more calculation and organism going on outside my skin than in.  Thinks: the digestive system is actually open to the world.  that would explain the eating, digesting, and occational excretion of people by people.  but at least we all have the possibility to nurish and CONSTITUTE our fellows.

EXTREMELY aware of the size of this giant mastication.  more stomach than anything else.  flying in the face of antacids.

string together a could of words; “let’s get married”.  why can’t we all adventure together?  what the heck is this one doing?  some kind of pirate policeman?  some kind of philosopher-king pizza deliveryman.
I’ll be your pizza highwayman.

let’s read that over again; “back to myself”.
room to find the space I used to occupy.  Space is everything, so there’s got to be room to see where all of my parts are and maybe room to prance and dance around a bit and shake my tail.
climb out of this defensive bomb SHELTER that was too small, dark, damp.
and just kick it with the radio-active zombie mutants…  sounds fun.  avoid shotgun blasts.

Hybrids my loan gunman.  Slow sinking dusky shades ripping the sky with colours.  Shake into the dawn.

Crack the cups together with a great ROAR of bestial enjoyment while we toast the end of the line.  The end  of rational thought as we know it. Run the finger down the blade and lick.  Paint with the crimson declaration that we’re still kicking.  Paint a sign: “We are still here.  We are here ’till we can leave no more mark.  ‘Till our vital ink has run dr…” drips and a prone body.  Somehow forming a final exclamation point.

Sulphur spews.  Hah maybe God’s angry, or maybe he’s shaking shit up again.  A divine, an omnipotent shit issued from the body beyond all bodies, and yet of the same image.  The sulphur spews, and eventually forms the land and gives the sea a platform.  And the foreign fish sit at the surface, and fly in their Other space.  No man’s land.  A land for no man.  Nymphs pull him to his demise.  Slowly the surfaces rise.

Act like it doesn’t matter, and in the end it won’t.  You’ll be confused and confounded, but in the end your half-remembered solitary acts will melt into the duvet, and beside your lover’s head all will be forgiven.  Try to be heartless, it’ll still catch up to you.  Try to be oblivious and it will frame your intentions long after; a picture in the museum.  The guide will give context, humanity, and a gesture to the next on the wall.

Fantastic paths.  Pass shifts.  Throw through the air, catch in the breath, in the wind.  Pass our selves.  Pass strangers on.  Fanatic paths, zealous shifts.  Come to terms and sweep across pastures.

Floozy.  Transitive.  Transliteral.  Come from the end of the rope.  Wrap the rope.  Deflate and tell the story.

Ramp up and amplify and vibe on the message.  Grant me this lapse of propriety.

Dictate all.  Words are openings.  Worlds and landscapes and washes of colour and floods of the unknown and known.

Bend temperament and conceive of our relationship in contrast, in opposition, and in flagrante delicto.

I am your equator and spin spin all the way around.  Take hold while we wrap, and the landmarks and feature points will spin too.  Orbits align and falling stars crash on down.

Thawed out and laid to bare.

Momentum.  Slide down the slope and you should come back the other side, surely?  Once slid, we’re too old for sliding back.  That’s all in the past.  Fanatics dream of your hand closing.  A giant hand and giant grasp closing slowly on everything.  As a taking hold.  As a crushing.  As a comforting caress.  Poke the sentimentality and it slinks off embarrassed, leaves only cold, drunken lust…
Footprints left in the soil.  Don’t you dare follow them; it’s unspeakable to find the culprit.

Forgo the luxury.  Forgo the key promises.  Forgo the priority of biology.  The imperative of finding and then searching in what you’ve found.  Once more at a loose end.  Play games.  Powerplay with malice or light heart.

So, you think it’s over.  While the blood’s still warm the memory’s pumping too.  In seething pulses, in rising tides and ebbing flows.

Catch me once.  I remember the beach.  I remember the fall, and I’ll always remember that I couldn’t catch you back.  I backed away and tried to catch myself.  Mid slid, mid fall.  An impossibility.

The tide receeds, the wind sings in the trees, and I sing in the waves.

rolling seas clap Cs rolling applause
a feisty little number strapped into a hotrod Ferrari
we’ve got rotten tomatoes, slow creep NIMBY, slow creep

we’ve got bottomless tomes.  rake over the leaves and
shirk any other responsibility.  Lakeside resorts

don’t break for stop signs, and rake the leaves.
fatherless tribe of nomadic hippies screams across the desert
looking for burning man

——————————–

Largesse.  Give me your graciousness.   Good  grace, and the sounds of the sun blowing through those chiffon.  Slow soak in gratitude, the golden syrup descends and warms

Slightly later, some humming vibration pulls our thoughts together.  Once we’re done, we’ll lay disconnected from our angles.  We’ll be soft curves and cur-cir-carressing slips and nooks.  There’s a pillow for your thoughts.  There was a dream for my world.  Reverse that.

It’s a slide.  Your parents lifted you up to place your bum on the summit, and flow yourself finding flashes of the world all the way down.

Losing change as you fly down the street, I think that was the last of them.
Calculate interest on that lot in the gutter.
Let’s explore this together; I think there’s someone down there.  Gosh,
it wouldn’t be the first time.

Lakes of sweat, lie glistening besides umbrella for the sun-soaked.
Entreat me to swim faster over to the rockstars.
Brother your just not paying attention.

Hate to feel ambivalent, so lets hug some dolphins and feel some endorphins.  Sleek grey skin is sexy like latex, but far too into watersports; you know they swim in it, huh?

Raging against the dull white death.  The dull white of your old conscience, and your skin.  Crack open something expensive, and we’ll sip it until we’re ready to sip at each other instead.  Roll over here baby.

Take someone else’s medication.  This will keep us going all night.  Ritalin off to the graveyard to stare at the sky and feel the stones against our head.  Bedtime at noon-time, and sinking into the suitcases to be packed off into oblivion again.  We all smile and sing; we’ll be ready for the next one.

Earth under fingernails is for the lovers-supreme.  The lovers of touching and feeling and digging to get deeper.  We dig it, we get deeper.  Beautiful, my friend.

Stairs down to the street, where the kids are playing football.  This could be Italy, Iran, Leeds or Helsinki.  In fact it’s private property, so skat, kids, skat.

I’ll fold.  I’m folding now.  Paper / plastic bag for tragic.  Rap so delicious that the words leave a residue.  Believe it, man, there is nothing here but the smoke and the coffee.  We are sitting in the nexus.  Jack is tickling the type-writer and Susan is murderizing the musical genius.  Tickling the musical genus.  Snogging the musical phallus.  Break down in sincopation, and beat yourself silly.  I didn’t think it would come to this much motion, but it’s liquid and this room and my ears are some sponge.  I like it.

Glimmer, glower, sit and stalk, dark angels fall to see you swim through this city like you mean it.  Walls and doors, windows to the fuckin’ soul.  The security guards are the unwitting keepers of our feet on the ground.  They sit on the surface of transcendence.  Man, they clip your wings and drink from Thermos flasks.  I’ll talk to you about flying over terrain marked by all these political borders.  Maybe we should whisper, or maybe we should shout.  If the world knew that their framework is a net.  If the world had a conscience for every dolphin trapped with the tuna.