Awake again, feel the nothing,
Half death and half alive,
still crawling in the dark micro corners,
another month, another year?
But the sun also rises,
The morning commute silenced,
The schools shuttered,
The gulls hungry and confused,
A full tank with no where to go,
a full rage with nothing to throw,
But at least most of us can breathe.
When a meme persists for an indefinite period, when the joke becomes a social identity, a creed, a prayer for cruelty and civil war,
for guns and rope and mass deportations, for the undoing of democratic power, when the joke dances in tuned hatred with the dear leader,
when the two minutes hate is eating the cats and dogs, when the cult is born and the joke is gone.
I saw two spiders were under the stars two silver coins flipped and their spins reversed, silky moonlight pouring in from the ruined heart
A tangled web of rage from the start will always reduce to a house of cards.
And the ice flows like broken bones,
cracked, an ancient plaque stands alone,
reading "this blue formed a billion years",
we've hit the gas and upped the gears,
we'll melt the fucking works dry.
The mob man can call a hoax,
but soon the wheel is out of spokes,
when millions more are dispossessed,
by rising winds and seas and deaths
and borders clash the refugees,
we'll feed ours first and argue duties.
And we'll wonder what went wrong,
why the outer world is a chaos song,
why crops are failing short and long,
why every soil roars the war bong.
And when the refugees can't eat,
they'll lay the gauntlet at our feet,
and we'll just build a bigger wall
and never turn our heads at all.
You burn like a cinder,
Your open flame chokes my brain
With your abusive language,
With your need to consume and
tear through the world,
like a sanctified rage machine,
Who is always promising the world
What if the laws of physics oscillate? What if our hands bound together Is a more favourable state, statistically, can’t we see that we’re better off a team, as a safe loft in the starry seam?
That our tenders lips
once sailed the seas together,
that humanity is a product of love
fashioned by a fascist genetic fate
And that it too must oscillate
In an ocean of dreams.
The universe is made of fusion orbs
Quarry stars and Gravity holes.
It crushed hydrogen critically,
A point where heat and plasma seas
Curl magnetic leaves and streams
And blast the Earth with mana swirls
Photonic tendrils steaming, stirring.
Earth could cook to photosynthesis
And brains could look to milky stars,
Whose furnace waves our scars.
The brains are machines forged in organic fire,
The stars are machines lighting life from the mire.
To my sister,
who read to me while I played video games,
who danced on Saturday morning
to pinball and unpleasant surprises,
whose stories of hugaland and badlands
gave the mossy bogs and shrub trees a history,
who occupied the summer swings and Southwest Pond,
who whispered games at midnight
scanning the rundown streets and wharves,
who shared a room amidst awkward teenage blues,
who taught me our souls expand beyond the walls
and into the naked written verse,
whose words trickled through the pages like wet wood
when it rained and soaked our scars remembering
the drip drip drip of the leaky roof,
waking in the night with the house splitting at the seams,
and always knowing you were there with me.
covers cursed in light rays, eyes bursting sideways, canvass of glass and soot absorbing each fragile input. Our skins trace the path, to nature's cruel wrath, wrapping us warmly in lies. Break me and my rhymes, find me there huddled and cold, far from the star that made me, the recluse boy, whose starving inner worlds spiralled in so far I forgot to look up, and watch the spinning seas surround me, each tiny star another face floating into stellar winds, Dreaming of a tender tide, of eyes fit to hold me and the secret passages I hide within the symmetry of words and knowing, knowing every painful path to you is star stained glass in the light of a distant moon.
