Earned and attained

 Speak of the dragon
the incarnate
oh the burning sacred paper
with which they printed the scripture

they seek forgiveness from a church
God has already sent the burning man
elonquent in hearts and minds
a tempered dragon sparing us

and destroying some with utmost discretion
the endless hope of the masses feeding the fuel
in it's throat it feels wells and bursts
as flint from teeth spark

grin cheers the annihilation
Son I grant thee forgiveness in this dragon fire
the figurative bread you give up as your own form
a piece of Godliness catch a light and carbonize

wash yourself in flame we do appeal
dreams are brought to the forefront of your mind
to be tried on their merit and condemned to darkness or to light
distractions harvesting your patience and virtues

open hands to the dragon and let go
the ever consuming fire leaps upon you like a morbid electric tiger
and teeth gnash constantly to the speeding heartbeat raptured by flame
you the baby the blaze your teet vice hits senses undeniable heat

wash your conscience
confusion deep

from upon the guzzling fizzling embers
is an eternal stomach a metaphor here
yet far under the basement horned beings are razed
reborn and guided as if destruction was earned and attained

Tony plays

 Tony I see you play 
tired eyes and voice carry

the guitar away

Tony ragged hair falls from the brow
something in the cauldron of the heart
gaelic and bruised

Fingers wrap and strum
flick and pinch the strings
so that ears like these we wear

can get a burst

carrying that guitar away

Tony I see you play
tired face haunts hands grip
the hidden beauty of chords

some spell in the lyric order

The eleck trick

 the road was alive with electric ghosts
spinning out of control
hunted down like stray animals
Squeezed into the side table

focusing and compounding
silent prayers
now the object is still
yet brimming with energy

magnetic and vicious
holding up a table cloth
coughing sparks and electric arcs
burning the carpet

feels like an esoteric healing
a soul in a box
transforming the outer layers into human flesh
where the inner layers consume the prior inhabitants

silent prayers and overcharged stares
looking right through the neighborhood
building little boxes for each house
so they might come alive too

countdown for Levant

 He was just a head on the table
chewing food and no body to injest it
what a lucky eater eating forever
satisfied look, asking for the next mouthful

huge panels hung up behind the party goers
exhibiting the hellish battles yet to come to pass
a few years from now

we all gather round the table
to convince the few how we might destroy

and yet survive

The head on the table just keeps eating
when the mouth is finally empty
the mouth is begging for the next mouthful

we all bring bowls of food
for this human head on the table

it's like a hobby

Charge you for the space

 it was a promotion
a blindfold nice
paying far too much
they approach us cheerfully

the facilities are incredible
They had the most attractive girl
offer me the contract
smile and hand offered

Without a shadow or a flutter
the building flexed bulged and muttered
turning to grin at me and invite me in
The structures sound and spacious

these people persuasive and insistant
offering the world
then excluding it in the small print
feigning surprise

the streets are danced upon by denialists
with overpriced clothes and personal stylists
all signed over to the long shadows 
of these boutique box like warehouses

Glued to the market

 Into the market
huge cask boxes full of wares and eats
gloomy corridors and halls strewn with semi interested
hopeful potential customers

the great market
a body spreading out over s district
walled in by fancy giftshops
fond hearts orbit

friends approach the main road
thick with traffic horns and bickering
as the bus leaves some panic
it has it's own lane

the car won't start
wishful thinking becomes abrasive
Handbrake and gear stick goat
heat inside the car sickly sweet

the dip in the road
both the slide down
the climb up
illusions of satisfaction

The stationary traffic
calms nerves as you crack the window
and glance over at the overloaded road
neither you nor those cars are moving

Waikanae that little home

 Waikanae

The child between the horror and hanger
The umu and the peka
The mungatooks and Hemi matenga
Elizabeth is her root

From ill attempts at competition
right betwen the hills of heaven
Trashy pine and eucalypt dance
embedded into the native expanse

summers mild short sweet like half gas on element
Nostalgia on sunday past screams to stay relevant 
not quite loud enough to wake the inhabitants
grandchildren and grandparents peep out

smokey chilly early winter evergreen and moss
spring thaw still rehearsing for stubborn frost
Sun held back by the tall poppy fume exaust
franchise shops and salvation budget cost

sand too light brushes knees till sore
soil so fertile the greenery flaunts
The southerly taunts
encourages a saunter

sunset over kapiti provoking thoughts
each day waves and gale yet such a happy glare
on the beach how has the fisherman fared
in small boroughs well tuned lawnmowers blare