Fire on the greek ankle

 The chorus had horns and wings and talons
given from god and hell and heaven
audiences of control freaks whose faces reach light speed
The darkness of space the blankness and obviousness of legends

 The voices singing the chorus were dry wood
Smouldering vowels and crackling consonants
Fire tied to the foot of the chorus
creeping up it like Italy

the fire curled cunningly seeking out invisible eyes
To have them observe it bronzing and scorching the musical notes
Fire now a knot attached to the titan
bland ash starting to form and fall from the white hot ankle

The chorus whipping and banging off the pine bark
rebounding off those stubborn date palm columns
up toward the base of the acropolis
taking fire like hungry god tongues

Flirting with Iberia Like a phoenician rogue
On the heel like Gibralter under moors and inquisitors
drunk on the ore flavored rocky grape not so different from
chalky athens

Supersizing youtube fruiter

 The plump I told you so
doesn´t slip from smug face
Instead rattles around the jaw
re-exploding in sudden utter grin

For his scraps hit the pig pen floor
before yours did
They filled the swine until darkness
and the poop is profitness

His plump assurances
show you he has been doubling down on that candy
working it into his own belly
And using his roundness to conceal grievous realities

Sweat beads don´t form his house is a well stocked fridge
Attach that huge sponge hand on and bellow fan slurr
You´ll spike this lardy hussler´s average
You the viewer are happy meal leverage

Death´s no game

 Toward the end all heroes feel the pinch
The last spark flies out of them
and their last words sound out
across their empty death bed moment

Jaws move and so does the tongue
Gritty scream that seems to say...

This is not a game

and the brain clenches another intense
like lungs holding breath

this is not a joke

And from somewhere out in the ether
death lets out a muffled cackle
Attempting to silence its laugh
as the last heartbeats count down

It´s not a game

The tides of oblivion roll in inevitable and greedy
the body convulses one last time, the final wilt

it´s not a joke

and the energy subsides
The horror drains out of it

But did you flow out with it?

Ingredients and method to immortality

The inner armour

inner power of superorgans

energy hidden in them

brewing and fusing

distilling and strengthening

Eternal passion emanating from the bones
sparks hitting veins and revitalizing them

The decades and centuries ahead

Are food for the tireless brain

The Mb017 model

 Out of northern california came the modern soldier
In any climate any envrionment it operated
executing it´s orders, barely human

Operating in the coastal swamps
waves hitting above the neck
forward forward

Addicted to it´s food fuel
located in it´s backpack
Northern california hussle

A new order for humanity
in the pacific collaboration

Reason was abducted

insanity and it´s apprentice

grining up from excess comfort
death a flea in the couch fabric

Emphatic denial a family blindness
sweet overpowering flavors
dropping like future tears unfelt in the present

Clean house underlying fearful vibes
Our brains behind fragile skulls
Humans so precariously programmed by sharp emotions

The rusty van of assumption has a mercenary at it´s wheel
pulling up to the empty house
The air is creme, life is a dare

The observer passes over it all in an airbound modern frigate of fortune 
Spreading your existance like mayonnaise

The guard dog

 The dogs of the yard
shape the throat of security
The blades in it´s bark

Looking down from the concrete water container

Aggressive lunges
The dog of the yard grins
The master pretending to be neutral

Making the yard it´s own by scent and smell

dead grass and dry turds the lawn taunts
Howling and slurping
The dog´seye sparking

Bite marks and flames 

Another non-read for your highness

 This trashy piece of mould
I´ve put it on the plate and called it a truffle
Maybe you might sample a piece and participate in this game of pretend with  me

My words lost in these systems and clouds
poetry a strange fetish and joke 
a quirky shame filled with bacteria

But this trashy piece of mould is an acquired taste
And I am afraid I´m going to have to charge you 
Just for observing it´s zestless montage

I´ve pushed this mush up inside your bored brain
Not a flicker of interest as it slushes around up in there
I could put some capers and sundried tomatos on that

I´d still need a million of you vomit resistant consumers
to give me an ethereal thumbs up on the poxy thread I mean

so the rest of you could consume me like wild salmon on a bed of herd-friendly caviar

Robot féminin

 The female robot
Programmed for the world
doubt in the eyes
groups to be understood

No hard edges
a reality where each had a mission defined
a dogmatic purpose
That made going out of the blurred mess a necessity

The female robot
programmed for the rough edges of the pavement
stuck now in a world where everything is mud
The language of love was badly converted to a computer script

Teenage boys are guillotines obsessed with owning their first car
Female robots fight the three norns with time guided missiles
Resenting being forced to choose between tradition and unknown future progress
embracing the present like a kid being put up for adoption

The predictable robot man
laughable utility, obsessed and enchanted by the obvious, the logical
The robot woman
finding complications outside the very realm of necessity

What is the organic destiny of my subjects
screamed the angelic God
Will they merge with metal and refined carbons
and tragically forget they used to live in caves?

Animating a metal plastic structure with the digital essence of what it is to be woman
Cradling the world knowing it´s eternal pain, precious seconds of  relief, an opiate for the fleshbound rest 

Lineage north of Auckland

 The eternal guest bedroom
Sun and heat waking the slumber of 3 generations
Bathing the bedroom in vintage orange light

Old bunk beds that barely held our mortal bodies
Lost somewhere in the north overheated

Fathers you can open the curtain
as the sun wants to enter

Trends and politicians will die out
But this morning light is eternal
By goodness my grandfather stopped cursing

A simple nightmare

 This giant alligator needs prey
The evil spirit needs your fear
But we don´t always get what we want
and the warty beast with fangs is just as much a victim as you are...

in a simple nightmare

Wheels that move your personal diety

 The wheel inside your head

the wheel inside your death

the wheel that rolls you along

the skeleton of life

color it with flesh

multiply it with sex

Lonliness was written

in crude graffitied letters all up inside that moving tunnel

the one you see the world through

just a traditional brand of acceptable madness

Faces change

obsessions transform

true wisdom is an illusive fox

self knowledge a creek one expects to be a river

It´s trickle offends you

See that divine lifetime in a quarter of a second

one where you will never need or want

the tunnel dizzying us as it rolls

around the months and years

growing weeds in our negligence

and trunks in our fetish

Our temple our sweet perfect diety

speaks to us with the mouth of our purest personal bias

our very own spiritul favoritism shaping the third eye

with extreme prejudice

The attempted inner stare

 The extrovert smiles and touches the outside world

A droid of joy

The inner world is unknown and cloaked in pretty idealogy

contrasts that would damage internal organs

yet with the right label could pass it off as art


The extrovert rubs the surface of the world

as if an interactive crystal ball

Worshipping the present

The redundant future a holiday camp´s abandoned canoe


The dance intensifies

The wheel turns like a thousand heads

to the compulsory beat the synchronized fleet 

of choreographed collective feeling

The pub cover and forced chitter chatter

that masks their musical mistakes

A sip a gulp a taste of the distilled

a droid of joy of trends and appearances

Heating the grill with an attempted inward stare
So outward that the inner image itself is an oven of fear

Love your things

 The negligence


The things we leave and do not touch

Those sons and daughters in cold cribs

The ghosts of things amassing

The value of possessions

Smiles and intended love for the material

The energy inside things

Being awoken by the ghosts of the things...

The world left untouched

Family´s last vacation

 Californian family holiday goodbye
The beach center was all palms and people

All trying to withdrawl style as if it was currency
mother was raving and father was fumbling
doing and saying pure meanings of life

we exited the sunlit building
palms farewelling us
Now we could feel the sense of voyage

the sense of family

we could see Meryl Streep running a red light
and sarcastically predicting our next words

Looking over the coast as if it were a banquet
pondering on whether we could extend the trip
brains onto phones and who to call
then down to hail a taxi
from the yellow dusty beachside stripmall

And along came a blessed indian man joined at the hip to his wife
moles and flesh all exposed
seats for everyone except my trip itself
Wealth declarers had invited us to their mansions
their four square discourses negotiating our consciences

the sense of being bought

Pushed into a solution inside someone elses head

Sunday´s intestines

 Sunday was an uncanny bohemian bush fair
Picking up floor dragons and petting ghost dogs
organizing the whole supernatural mess for monday morning
Halls in shadows, my feelings have got fat veins in those shadows
pulsating across the pale planked wooden floors

Being cut into little pieces by the echoes of laughter
Taking the miracle for granted hoping for something to come after
Herds of people not taking the day to reflect just a blink of relaxing
seemingly distracted by a giggle in the galaxy

Dusty seconds being swept up by overzealous ritual and angst
Sunday ripped her dress as she got up to protest, breaking fangs on midnight
And I was reaching for life like a baby reaches for their mother as if one day would save me
The hours were being crushed down into a ball by the afternoon muted raving
Unions greased with hugs even touch sensitive cave, existence requires a certain amount of love
The seventh day has an abundance of slaves

Fat veins out of the wooden sheds that once made up a school house
Our faces pale and aging as sunday growls 

Sunday was like sushi under a surgeon
Like a russian canoe upended by a disgrunteled sturgeon
the cliff edge dwelling herds all began merging
looking down at the inevitable panorama of tomorrow, stiff and allergic
Sunday was going on as you were distracted, simply a giggle in the galaxy

Flowing out

 she flowed out

ghosts could see her coming

the trees that have always hugged the calm breeze of the small town

The odd one out a small boy who shat on those small town rules not able to perform

She flowed out for company
That bottle of wine flowed out
conversation flowed out and exposed too much
Hidden wounds lost their scabs and stitches all of a sudden
Heart knots tighten and tangle and words poison the muddle

Kingdom lost

 usurpers amass
Kingdoms come to heel
Under new ship´s keels
Kings are felled
Like old oak overgrown in the royal dell

The helmet and fashions slipped away
A new era with new flags and rules
Payment was made and the bribe exposed
Soldiers arrived to make the arrest

Soft tissue hardware

 I worked for six hours on monday, I only saw the classes
Boring study sends him to distraction
Youth doesn´t know the medicine it needs
Bothered by theories of impending doom

Stimulations seems to come out of nowhere
And then dry up leaving the air deprived fish
gasping like covid beds
Screaming young people

In his job he does new thing
at the fornightly meeting
There are people from the system that he´s working on
Targets were not met bugs were found

The human mind a big fat ERP

The dasyatis bayonet

 The pompous are up at it again and we can´t stain them back
juice all apple and pale and by the book without a hack
what empire did you start and forget to finish yet still overestimative?
Can you see Out of the isles as you came sun striking outnumbering the natives
and then you lot come down here to retire and visit your far off relatives

Pale and blonde and full of your allergies inside and out
Is this what it amounts to the war cry shout?
Is this what old Georgie meant, southern royal fans?
Churchill´s dream all stiff and flexing over the new islands?

We´ll build a few hundred  hospices and facilities for the overaged
that can´t stomach the old english metropoles or country cages
Your son woods scared of the wasp, so it made it´s way into his shirt
The shrieks and screams sent the children into hysterical laughter

He ran out of the classroom kicking up a storm as the wasp burned a hole in his uniform
stinging at random like a knife attack on the vicar godfearing
The bough pierced by the unseen reef sailors woefully despairing
Young woods plunged into the dirty colony throwback uncaring

Like a clean fabric into a sewer of filth
Was this an example of stoic churchill fortitude?
union jack still hustling the southern winds 
No different to the sails that changed the sting ray forever

Azza´s son

 Azza´s curiosity once created a world from one that had died
eons from his birth

A forested world abandoned by it´s creators
Large factories bulging and protruding from the bush side
Like borders to the once bustling cities
clustered alleys surrounding long open highways

The forest a patchwork of colors and textures
Easy enough to get lost in
And there he was singular perfectly alone
Not ever knowing companionship

Making his way through the low hanging vines
the carcasses of unidentifiable vehicles that used to move that world
Coming to the base of a densely wooded hill trying to access the buildings above
Entry ways were sealed and all that could be heard was the breeze and ghost echos

Ghost echos of a life not yet had, or one that had passed a millenia ago
The boy changed his eyes and honed in on the paths around the closed overgrown structures
Following them through until he got into the city´s mainstreet
hit with the sooty metallic perfume of the past

Alone in the middle of that monstrous city sensing the way things were
Praying to an absent god, solitude in every second
This rusting decaying infrastructure, the priceless art changing over the years
desintegrating sublimely as the boy spoke in that cities tongue as if to raise the dead

And the boy went about recreating something that had lost it´s essence

Azza his proud father looking on from a semi operational city camera once synchronized to his skull

Mother butterfly

 Anne and the butterfly

Anne found her garden of peace and pond water
plants and trees that were mothers and daughters
soil was life, sun was light, night was a sigh
Everyday pondering the butterfly

How it flows in the air
as if transversing dimensions
Landing and taking off from our attention
A symbol for ascension

My mother in this world

What is this chrysalis
we find ourselves wrapped inside
A transitional stage
between light and dark, between seasons

Anne found the stream
There the timeless eel wanders and wades
winding up the autumn clock
as mother´s day unlocks

For my mother

The wings of this quiet season
of falling leaves and butterflies
memories flickering and testing the mind
Until the chrysalis subsides

Random leisure in a generational desert

 They came their spinning vibrant group curiosity dripping from their chins
Shining youth hit those tables looking for those glasses still half drunken
These spinning vibrant girls and boys extended slender rubber arms to drink them
Longing for permission.............................

But Moses wasn´t at the bar to hear underage sob stories
to kill the youth out of themselves ethanol jolly
No Moses was socializing next door with naturals

Yet the clientele weren´t going anywhere
and they suddenly aged 20 years as if lit by lightnening

Now shouting and walking off demanding beer

They were being standoffish creating their individual life like a magazine store front
In an office near the soot greased subway packed in like dirty crawfish

Your next train is a decade away parade predictible another glass you left half full 
and unattended on that milestone improvised speech stained table
That last sip of booze evapourating like friends as new youth begs to drink what´s left

To see him off one day

 He turned to the car inspired
another journey another gulp of life somewhere

not here

Off in that classic car the wind in his face
his second wheel rolling right next

me outer world looking in half curious

intangible

The Journey required a vehicle
one he was obsessed with

well if I could just fly off without having to follow a road
or even have to ride in a car

Yet his life was in a smile that spread after the names of makes and models
Mine was a constant grin the trembled less often over aging

He didn´t really have a destination but pressured the supporters to let him take off
He sped off that half a liter of blessing took him a few trillion miles

The Wares and tears of James

 For the excentric redheaded boy
it was all about confounding convention
immersing himself in comedy and art
Unknown to others, unique to the curious

Burning into controversy
strange obsessions infecting his mind

moving him forward
forcing him to antagonize the status quo
Passion and emotion bursted him often
emotive and british

At the choir tasting his own voice
bitter in winter creative in spring
contrarian in summer
and the feijoa autumn he got lost inside himself

but celebate, for if you were ever complex enough

to get lost in yourself

You might live your life for a change

Phil the creator

 The live environments jersey woollen and warm for the winter
for the routine check on those fish ponds into the valley
His small shed stacked with fish flakes
electrical cables twisted and tangled up to knee height

A liter of milk and a microwave meal
And back to work on the phone, to the farm, into town
A piece of fruit in the middle compartment
electric windows and the brick cell phone

Each time he checked on those fish it was a just a sip of ginger ale
Each time he pottered around his lil small town factory
it was a gulp of diet pepsi and a few uncertain choices
Few would query in, yet the courier sought a cure to his curiosity

Messy working spaces, busy with ideas, some random, some ordered
and the coffee flowed and the life force glowed
And a timeline formed with its own milestones and crazy twists and turns
Sudden emergencies became a monthy occurence

Thanks to that, life had meaning and the narrative of importance
suddenly had weight on the common folk
Other´s ears seemed hungry for convincing
The franchise was poured into separate glasses
caffeinated and swimming with life

The winter drizzle tries to steal a few more grams of energy
windless summer sweat occupying the furrowed brow
At the helm over the aquarium water
A filter for the coffee, a filter for the aquarium
yet no filter for the Phil who brought the world of waiting observers...

a few moments of joy