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"Another Better World"


These little sins 
you smoothly skip across the waters of fairweather lives 
like darkness hidden underneath deadly white lies,
like throwing pebbles casually across The Lake of Tears
that reflect rippling rings rapidly racing outwards 
that touch the hearts and minds of Other,
those beings standing on the slippery non-shore of your world, 
slope sideways for all the care of observing and throwing you a line,
the line becomes a harsh sentence and they are dragged out 
just the same with you, you extend your virused reach,
you pull them out like a magnet and under the slick mud
of your shallow mangroves, you use them for all your dark worth, 
which amounts to less than their Light, you suck all the lightness out of them,
to leverage yourself back out of the tides you paid to vacate your prison, 
you take the freedom that is not yours, you consider it 
their karmic retribution to be sealed into your fate and your crime and, 
like a thief with empty pockets that arrives in the darkness of long dark nights, you take and you take all that was theirs and was never yours to take,
you play them like a puck in your standard hockey game
like nothing has changed, but the winded exchange reversed,
and the Other, now for all the kindness that was granted 
in the naive moments of forgiveness, after all the sordid truth
that was grimly delivered, in the harsh reality of the nightmare that is you, 
you blithely abandon them without a care in the world you walk across 
the floors of Freedom now, selling your false worth, they remain 
on the Other side sinless of the crime, yet locked in what was once your world, the hollow empty bubble barely breathing underneath your sorry fails, floundering, paying for it all, that which was yours that left them somersaulting traumatised, that left them looking for the right words, 
in a moment of a multitude of decades extinguished, punctured like a lung, the bubble floods and they find the significance in drowning to swallow what’s seen in salted wounds, the bleeding out of holes in your story, the drowning in itself is a virtual welcome mat

to quit it all, to release 

and like a tadpole they swim reptilian-taled
with velociraptor mind to rise again in another life, 
another better world 



Candide Diderot. ‘24 



"Wild ghosts
Wild feelings
Leaning windmills..."

"A new path
Out of the madness ..."

"To wherever it goes
To wherever it goes ..."

"and wherever it lies 
and wherever it lies
to wherever it goes 
and wherever it goes
and wherever it goes..."

"I quit
My head is lit
A piece of me."
(excerpt The Smile, I Quit)



“I dream of a Ledaean body, bent
Above a sinking fire, a tale that she
Told of a harsh reproof, or trivial event
That changed some childish day to tragedy—
Told, and it seemed that our two natures blent
Into a sphere from youthful sympathy,
Or else, to alter Plato's parable,
Into the yolk and white of the one shell.”
W.B.Y.



a conversation.

tail/tale.
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