There they go human beings leaking out away from the horizon.
Practicing their lives.
rehearsing future victories.
They go attempting to hold the road.
As traffic keeps pace.
Sun so timid to rise.
But shows it's first signs.
The flow of people wishing for something bigger.
Bigger than themselves in that proud impossibility.
Eyes judge and voices accuse.
Legs brace as feet hit the pavement.
thye move like drops of water down a glass window.
With the sun shining in, training to be something.
I am clothed
yet I feel undressed
I have so many choices
But I feel powerless
I have acquired stamina in my hustle
however I am exhausted
I have grown new muscle
Though I feel weak
When will it be my time
The the crust of glory becomes something I myself devour
my patience is tested
Because I cannot wait for this hour
I am pure creativity
But my mind is blank
My libido pulses with sensitivity
But I feel impotent
What is this cruel trickery devised from where the unseen stare
Stirring reality and adulterating it's incgredients with waking nightmares
Past rising to consume me and once again I smash it all into tiny shards
Thus becoming whole, visionary, passionate and hard!
School was talking fantasy film
Abandoned class room now for stock
Young girls with cute lisps
carried away with details
curly headed consciencious nerd
Who indulged the lisped young girl
Organizing material for the next exhibition
Then embracing in the empty corridor
School was creating or building an image
then throwing it away
as if it were never you
As if you were above it
School was long winded opinions on cult classics
as cut into acres of paper
sit by and study the periodic table
Big empty rooms
Handfuls of empathy
Constant change silly confessions
That sent the struggling teen soul nosediving
speculating on teacher's past times
prospecting toward the forbidden
with wiggle room to deny everything later
To offer excuses by feigning naivety
weaving those very first webs of deception
He spent his life eating,
becoming round and docile.
Non resistant,
giving his jolly self to the moment.
He spent his life playing.
The constant infant.
Somehow unreasonable.
Yet deep down so shapeable.
How much of us are just impulse,
nojo nojo instinct.
What are we but messes,
that need consistant cleaning.
Rigorous maintenance
That was our last vestige
That was the temple of the bloodline
Built so tall with noble wood
strong stable supports
Complex catacombs beneath
Passages all through it
Remains of the living areas covered in mould
Deep rot and layer upon layer of dust
Rebuilding all this will take decades
The tower where your cross sat is busted by storms
I must reset it and have it reinforced
Push these wayward people obsessed with their small games
Into rebuilding you whole
Death occupies itself inside a pigeon's body
Doing it's work dutifully inside and out
feathers ruffled and a missing eye
just an opening with a grey and pink nothing
Claw haphazard like a spasmodic goodbye
Ants make a line find their way to the cadaver
Beak slightly ajar as if finishing the last breath
Or nibbling the last morsel
It flew it's last peaceful flight
suffered the hardness
Enjoyed it's ease
It blesses the mud with it's corpse
Position of final forfeit
Elements and bacteria
Until all evidence of the creature has gone
The angle of the neck is thank you
Warriors grandiose.
Come along the ridge here on horse back.
Oh so majestic and spiritual.
Where is your metaphor, where is your sacred spear.
And the rotten colonizer.
Oh what will you do with him?
The horrid brutal landbreaker!
Has he not humiliated the honor?
You remain on horseback the longer taiaha by your side.
Will you not smite me for past slights of my restless predecessors?
Hungry to subjugate your chaos into order.
With a bland English stroke.
Can you live in honour just with words and politics.
Must you not reclaim what is yours with the original violence.
Of such to carve out your appropriates of dominion.
Am I the eternal white Devil that should be huned for sport?
Or did you just run out of Moa.
