words words words
winding words like a
time clock working
backwards gathering
moments into stretched
elastic bands then
snap
and suddenly it all dissapears
with a progressive inflation of time
bubble blown so that we can’t
see past its horizon and into
our pasts and then
boom
Here we are
safe to say my theme of late has been time.
Everyday
so how can you know it all?
with earthquakes bombs and
new creatures discovered and
people killed off in stories
causing outcries of despair
new islands and the use
of chemical weapons continuously
discussed and pandas and
histories and corpses
lurking in preserving
peats- undecayed leather skin and
nigerian college gunmen- how?
minorities exploding to maximise
their damage
this world is spiralling
and spiralling faster all out of
control and for what?
it seems
gravity is losing the plot.
Healer. Village Pharmacy. Devine
beneath merciless heat
quickly tall and stretched and shading
with oxygen to spare
it frames the deserts of Africa
waiting for nomads to save
an answer to every question
never asked
it heals a thousand broken
things it brings
peace
it wards evil it
watches and waits
patiently for 200
years
protecting this
world with an
ancient wisdom
this neem
when enough is
enough and
experience has left its
imprint upon you and
one must process pain
to proceed to
something worthy of it
progress, one must progress
process and proceed and prevail
to progress, yes
that is how it must be done says
the face reflecting torment terror
trance trancing on the techno tires
telling time-tables to time tables and
tables time like stopwatches or
mobile times on mobiles on tables timed and telling
time of time telling time of time telling like a
mirror reflecting mirror reflecting a million
mirror maze
it is about time time times time to be on time and before time and
timeless and
time was always a socially constructed term
anyway like
words but not worry or wisdom or wonder
and these are all my words for now.
And suddenly, the year is 2007
and we are having a conversation
about why 3 isn’t 4 when obviously it
was half of 8
and walking to the end of the universe
and how half of 8 was hungry because
it only 8 half and
about different dimensions
where time didn’t play out on a line
like it did now
and somewhere out there
the guatemalan time farms were
increasing stock to give the world
everything is simpler then
now then how
everything is then
now we need not be
in 2013
not yet.
It seems that
I will fight
change
at first
I will hold
the past
in a glass
jar and look
change
in the face
swearing and
screaming at it
saying everything I
think will hurt it like
it hurt me
but really
change is inevitable
and it will take these
curses and reflect them
back as slap on my face
stinging
because really
I should have just
embraced changed more
bravely and said
hey change
about time.
Right at the very end
Just before the sun
sets its final rip of red
there is a truth
touching the edge of the
universe and reflecting back
again it
hangs
for a few seconds and
screams that this
world was the mightiest
illusion there ever were and we
just an audience to
show and everything just an
act a canvas to paint it
ears and a song words to a paper
wind to waves and tides to shore and
ground to feet and nothing,
nothing more.
everyone is walking
with their faces to the sky
everyone is talking to the
strangers nearby
but nobody is listening o
nobody is listening
nobody is listening and
nobody asks why
we’re all floating in the distance
muttering about our instances
sufferings might as well be silences
cos nobody is listening
as you tie hope with
persistence and you hope the knot
will keep
struggling towards a distant fence
thats always out of reach
everyone is laughing
little twinkles
framed in frowns
everyone is beaming
and believing what they’ve
found
everything is truth now
its a solid paste of face
masking the illusions
that we are all out of place
this is what we call it yes
this is what it is
this is life this second blessed
we could call it bliss
it is a conveyer belt of
everything we’d miss
There’s a part of me that believes
-(hush, and don’t tell anyone!)
that I am no writer- and will never be!
That I was always the distracted
forgetful fragmented ‘wannabe’
philosopher/stoner staring at the
universe with glazed glass-eyes thinking
-so many trains of thought at once
that they’ve all crashed to smithereens.
Now look, this chaos cannot be instructive
only destructive, and distractive too
collecting different threads of mind
pulling away and apart until
it unravels into
nothing
the conclusion of every good argument.
pandaplatter 