time

TICKING (HAIKU)

Our love,
a time bomb.
Short wick.

ASTEROID

I expect too much of time
in the little I have left.
I am a dinosaur,
and it,
the pummeling to come.

I wait for its whoosh to confound me;
the bending skyward of my neck;
the brevity of my innocence;
my un-vocal surrender.

A wounded animal,
contorted by such clarity,
confronted
by my lack of ease
as I awkwardly live to expire.

SEIZED

I
am at
II
a complete loss
III
to understand the
IV
inner workings of your mind;
V
the cogs that turn to
VI
wind your clock
VII
have seized, and
VIII
the only hands
IX
that pass time now
X
are mine
XI
alone
XII

HUMAN BOOKENDS

It is here
in this bottle-necked existence, locked
into days captioned by ticks and tocks
where time resides in each of us
until it stops,
rotating the same hands
inside the same third dimensional clock.

It is here
where every breath exhaled is a universal kiss –
it is simply one moment and
the space in between this
that binds together our journeys, which,
as uniquely defined as we feel each is,
are all chapters of the same book
we write to reminisce,
primed and painted with the same theme we
create to self-exist,
scrawled by the same pencil, held
by the same hands as we persist . . .
each of us artists
with the same precise and leather-bound twist.

It is here
where we long for real purpose or true faith –
to believe that something
‘other’/ external / majestic
awaits . . .
but in nothing we trust
yet, cry blame for our fate –
each a different monologue of the same hate;
the same distracting soul state;
the same periodic and prolific bait.
God would not want us, at any rate

It is here
in darkness, arms around each other’s back
that war hangs overhead in stasis,
circling, cycling on a track and
wearing thin our patience
while it leaks like yolk from all our cracks
(we watch it drip indifferently as we huddle tight within our pack)
S
I
L
E
N
T
L
Y
preparing
for the next surprise attack:
we, like wolves, insane
and seeing red with every flash –
our lonely pain inciting hunger,
our deep abyss as black.

It is here
in this cosmic explosion
and it is now just as it was then,
that peace is nought but a tragic parody
of the dreams of passing men –
and nothing changes but the theatre of stars
in lines, in queues, end to end,
enemy to friend to
ENEMY
for decades once again,
consuming pain like greed as our bellies, full, distend,
living every angle of the lie like it is money we MUST spend,
the broken tales of each of us
portending, true, our end;
dangling one more burden
like a dog-tag for a past we’ve penned,
at rest beneath a headstone
in a yard of human bookends.

KALEIDOSCOPE

With you
I spent my years like money
and what is left now are the shells
of every decision afforded –
the skeleton of time
the only backbone we could manage
not to crumble. Our own had weakened.

For many years
tears would leak like suicide
and I became an expert swimmer,
my exclamation mark of strength
the board on which I’d surf;
later, the oar with which my raft would be paddled.
I cried an ocean
but still could not willingly drown.

Of late
I ceased believing that I lacked worth
and stopped just existing to pay the karmic debt
my reasoning concluded I must owe.
I unshackled and chose to live outside the cage.
Giving up on failure gave me purpose.

Without you
the tangible clutter we gathered gets dusty
and I can’t decide if I should blow it clean
or leave these fingerprints to remind myself why.
In shedding the weight of commitment
I am no lighter, but my kaleidoscope now dazzles like a jewel.

LAST SECOND (HAIKU)

Here, the last moment,
time stealing that now as well . . .
no tock to the tick.

UNTITLED (HAIKU)

I have lost myself:
too many words left to write.
My void grows timeless.

THE SOLD SOUL

It slips
– this new surrender –
past the rusted locks and caution signs
and crumbling roads of cul–de–sacs
and vacant lots
and open tracks
to freedom:

where conundrums play and secrets huddle
and bodies lie
and youth decays
– retired past expired days –

Engraved in time
cocoons and shells and nests are hung
and quartered for a chance at love:

the way ahead receding,
half behind and part enslaved
(a mask of promise worn from sale of soul to lucid grave)

And
– like an avalanche –
it falls in quick pursuit, this
multiverse of filthy guise
with liquid paths and dangerous eyes
and ruby coloured blushing cheeks
where
every lover’s heart of sponge or stone
descends to meet
while
heating for another touch
beneath the fraying sheets

And all the while
– in haste, not glory –
time, undressing moments as it passes,
flies away,
incarnate instead as flesh (again)
with wings that only beat
to re-transcend and scar
and mend
in pounding, swollen, rhythms
C
L
A
W
I
N
G
for the warmth of distance
**ROARING**
for a hurried end

So,

spaced between the
t i c k s and t o c k s
of darting pain
and thrusting cocks,
of cunts aroused, abused, and shamed,
a silence, near, deploys again:

the ever-caged
and emptied song
of lustful shame
and mouths and tongues
declining, fast at last
to go
from whence it came
to soak the mind
and strip the soul
and blur the lines
of time and toll

buried

in surrender, whole

THE LONG WALK (HAIKU)

One moment in time:
an infinite path to fate
always leading home

INCEPTION

Inception

Time: a purpose
built for frolic and fancy;
an infinite seduction
so exquisite
that it’s yet to be considered to exist;
a burden so nameless
that life abandons it
almost upon inception.

TO PAUSE

To Pause

Abandon me
so I may postpone
this satisfaction
and
for an irrelevant time alone
subsist on nothing
but my starving need
for your fulfillment

THOUGHT #438

Today is a reality unplanned moment by moment, but perfected time and time again.

THOUGHT #417

Time’s bride is a vision of emptiness against a backdrop of stars.

A TIMELESS WAIT IN MADNESS

Your sweet promise coats me like a varnish
wrapping my sticky desires
in an airless, human
skin-tight vault

Fatally sealed, this
timeless wait in madness, this
paused intent of craftsmanship
–
one un-stepped frozen foot ahead
–
contains me like a parasite and
I, far from drowning
hibernate within

Eons of time bereft of touch
pass me (imprisoned) by
but
wide awake, alone, insane
inside this vacuumed husk, I
quench my heart
– reflection –
while my hunger
(still unfed)
provides the popcorn
and the trailers
to the feature film
that scratches at my
fading, timeless
statuesque, and stunted soul

I wait (believing)
baited and entombed
for the next civilisation to unbury me
and
recreate a reason for my being here
that parallels an excuse
for their own

THOUGHT #29

Time, full to empty with nothing, is something of which there is never enough.

EVEN BEYOND DEATH

Concurrent sessions of geometric,
(explicitly whimsical)
liquified squares
arose from patterned nether regions
of ‘somewhere else out there’
in smothering particles of
truest radiant flares.

And sat I upon the visible dreamscape space
that existed no-where
but outside of my illusory plan,
and cherished, I, the pictorial preempted
in the moment of my after-life birthing
of which polite demand
again beseeched me ride.

Yet not a one of the graphical displays
(filtered fresh from infinite dimensions)
approached me like a complete whole
– neither a partial whole –
but as a synchronistic sphere
of clouded systemic rumours
made to halt to keen attention
but one light-bodied and mirrored virtual soul
such as the sporadically alter-egoed I.

Flowing from one source to the next,
beyond the simple measure of a single point
a blast of knowing flagged a recognition spark
that folded time and space
betwixt one universal structure
unto the
(not unlike symbiotic)
self instructioned mind –
and so to Mind Exist described another route
for Love to spread It’s fastest cycle;
birthing cells and growing rife,
to yield a fresh creation.

And hereupon I watch/ed with hunger
that which transpired time before,
providing what is harnessed now,
with will to still repeat again,
and so again to knot forever
into chains of new momentum;
weaving,
waving,
slipping through and marking too,
another path to God.