The night, it's night
permanently...
Night is all night...
So too, is the day...
It is full day.
The time it takes to live
one day, it's complete, every day...
With the night it's the same in what
matches
with the time of night...
As long as the night lasts,
and as long as the day lasts...
That if we do something,
or if we do nothing... !
This philosophy, I learned from
the great kung fu hinterland masters
Lol,lol,lol...
We don't just wish
the drought of the wilderness...
Always always....
We also wish snow
snow... light
even briefly...
Hinterland
It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects kill insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.
the sun cut it's way
right across the empty sky
some huge, cosmic love
Naked pure newborn Eden, unashamed
Soles step intrepid on spongy moss
Quadrant of tropical dapple claimed
Fruits in Winterless heart's emboss
Limbs mingle, indulged by marquee manuevres
Ponder labyrinth piths without hindrance
Sultry poetry compiled among canopy soothing
Canoe traverses untold as fingerprints
22nd April
To Kingsley
OH, MY Hinterland ...
No wet places,
without resting landscape,
everything seems eternal desert ...
Broken, fallen houses,
thrown by life ...
Almost dead nature!
In these lost stops,
dry, lean, evil cows
support themselves ...
Birds of prey, sneak
just patiently lurking ...
We are still alive, we only
we drag, we don't live ...
Nobody drinks, nobody eats ...
we graze sadness only ,,,!
Democracy devolves into tyranny, Plato cautioned.
Flooded by the frigid torrent of factionalism,
will we certify his prediction?
Blinded by the prevarication of public discourse.
Numbed by the inundation of disinformation.
Crippled by the conspiracy of doubt.
The real deep state festers in our cortex,
a place where the charlatans of fallacy
invade,
a dwelling where terrorists of mind
take control.
But the terrain before us is vast.
The dense forest and effulgent meadows ahead are unmapped,
musky, fructuous forest floor perfumes the breeze,
The scarlet skyline of the dewy untrodden beckons us.
Abundant life is our rehearsal.
Can we honestly say we know for what?
Yet, such rapture is eloquent in our dreams.
Such reverie will arrest the parsing of our quintessence.
Our distortions are lifted when we are united
in communitarian struggle.
Published Online 4/2021: The Opiate Magazine
Also scheduled for print publication: summer, 2021
I sleep with two guns to my head
One says I love you, one says death
I sleep with two guns to my head
Aquitas Veritas
Falsitas, pravitas
I sleep with two guns to my head
One says I love you, one says death
I sleep with two guns to my head
One reeks of desperation
One seeks an affection
But if either
Goes off, fires
You'll sure enough be dead
I sleep with two guns to my head
One says I love you, one says death
I sleep with two guns
Most nights I sleep softly
But on those nights I feel haunted
I take a gun and I cock it
I stuff it into my pocket
I walk out, on the street
Down a mile, get some groceries
Level it falsely,
Pull the trigger,
A killer of girls
It's a beautiful bastard world
Winged shadow over yellow moon
cold stars glow against deepening blue
Icy breath hovers like drifting steam
Silent talons end winters dream
How elders sought the dictate of the boundaries,
with insipid lines on arid parchment traced,
warnings not to overstep the distance,
for beyond is where the land is laid to waste.
Beyond is where the many headed serpents
coil and writhe and wriggle on the rock,
and breathe out streams of such outlandish fire
that it burns interpretation in the flock.
Beyond is where the bravest of the angels
turn aside and always fear to tread,
and where there are such infinitely worse things
than snipe and lay pedestrian with the dead.
The elders love their boundaries established,
and for all to then remain within their span,
for only should the realms of gods transcend them,
and forever they outstrip the realms of man.
Their norms decreed to not out-pace the shadow,
or think beyond the world they understand,
yet breeds fear for the thoughts of other dreamers
who may seek the world beyond the hinterland.
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