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Showing posts from February, 2012

Reconciliation

What is it that unifies us?

For the boiling bad blood
of heated boarders has
polluted all the air
inside the firmament-sky,
and false belonging spits at empathy as personhood is domestically defined.

What is it that brings us together?
For self-perpetuating open wounds are blinding and searing any concept of an 'us' and reactions chase reactions chase reactions chase reactions chase reactions.

What is it that brings us together from this hopeless hate?
The most hurt party not only abandoned vengeance but mirrored it onto Himself, and demonstrates frail victory that looks like failure to us, unless we abandon vengeance in an embrace that crosses every dimension of this sickness.

Skin

Skin chases skin alone
and stretches itself until
it dulls every window,
pouring restlessness into home.

Skin knows its pours are suffocating
and draws its own ink
to display fading ideas as permanent
tracing these tattoos, hallucinating.

Skin licks mirror's cold and clouds wet circles,
yet at it's most lucid it realises it's own translucence thus, realises its potential
for skin is part, not purpose.
Written late in January 2012

Wrong Ladder

So the rungs of your ladder became blades.
But you would never chase
your fingerprints as they fall,
and a rumour of identity will lie
on the blood-stained birthing floor,
along with your name and
your first pair of tiny shoes. All waiting for the teeth of scavengers.
The metallic surface up here has been weathered rough like your face you have forgotten; another discarded picture, ruined by blind obsession.
The wind from above whispers only despair as the portraits on currency are merely official black-ink-pop-art. Those notes of paper take up no space, they communicate nothing,
but flitter a mocking snicker in the blustering; worthless as leaves.
Echoes screech for answers in the frustrated perpetual motion of a monologue that wishes for conversation, because all your companions took their own tributaries and disappeared in distance.
With hindsight we can see that they took with them all the scraps of meaning you ever had.
It is this wretched ladder you claimed that has stripped your identity in your autonomous s…