exiting, existing – burning fire out bro heel daggers.
We, unknown and known super individual at a moment
perception shift, a shift of perception
that tailormade skip, a fart and a
cock shaft – laser pen chases
divine birthright claims,
hyperbole magnification of
business as usual in this racist albion
fractured, forgetting folk
deep, dark tunnel of treasures,
golden portals, light in cross pollination.
Dream a dream of bus drivers and
sailors. A new home, away, on the road.
It was always one for the road
in every phase of love, clinging movement
This dream comes out of a spiral funnel,
spinning Spinee, are you, escapade?
Are you in my bones and cells and molecules,
are you a way out?
are you in those helix structures,
same yearning drift process of my broken not-yet-ancestors?
telling witch tales, walking people, look away…
A circle which is a process
is a spiral. Call it,
speak it. The voice in the moonlight electricity,
learning at last to be gentle in violent times. Yearning, to
let go of… those spiralling accusations, hurts,
spat vitriol. You, BJ, you are but
a projection, symptom of this land.
I’ve never understood it. The rules of
who is spoken to, how to, who not. I’ve willfully
misunderstood it. Hoof and horn, baby,
Don’t sweat it. You can’t claim.
Those inner/outer gods remain
ever One/Many. Ever
Us. You can’t, your centuries at it,
this war, imagination, art
this war, the deaths, brutality,
oh our stories! It’s a dance. You can’t
claim anything that matters.