samvattanika

I walked along a path covered in leaves, smoke crowded over my feet, gushing into the blankness of my footsteps. 

I walked rhythmic, stepping beat for beat to the drums in the distance.

I saw my grandfather who had turned into an owl, who sat with frameless glasses, magnifying his already large pupils, on a tapestry over a fallen log.

He gestured for me to come closer and I did, growing eager with each step. 

Rhythmic, stepping beat for beat to the drums in the distance. 

He pulled me into the tapestry and shot me through a universe I could hardly imagine. Wisdom beyond all worldly understanding. 

On an undulating table cloth we swam through the liquid of my consciousness, feeling each drop of thought sliver past my cheeks and onto my neck. Dripping seamlessly down past my body and onto my feet.

I saw each knot in my soul untie itself and lay themselves before me, baring all truth and understanding to my beating heart. Overcome with an overwhelming sense of acceptance, I stilled my motion and began to listen.

I heard everything beautiful I had ever remembered, music beyond all sound, perfection beyond the imagination of the great composers. Melodies infused with words that bore the calm to the rage of war that stuck onto my veins. 

Music that ebbed through my stream of the present and lifted me above and beyond the limitation of my own inhibition. 

My grandfather turned to me and whispered, “When you can feel. When you can understand the beauty of that which lies above desire. When you can accept the living life in all things you see with your eyes, smell with your nose, listen with your ears and touch with your hands and hold them close as company enough. When you can forget the arrows and stones that stay trapped at your feet and release the scars that lay webbed across the underside of your skin. When you can see beyond yourself, you will find your peace waiting there for you.”

He disappeared in a morning mist that dewed my body, blessed the darkness with crystal light that clung eternal onto the surface of my being.

An arrow on a compass stopped abrupt and pointed.

I closed my eyes, cleared my breath, shed the boulders that hung heavy off my shoulders and followed. Step by step.

Rhythmic, beat for beat toward the drums in the distance.

To Feel

I held on to you like you were a crucifix

and my entire body 

the trembling hands of a man already

dead,

whose flesh wheezed weak with any real will

to see the light of tomorrow.

So long,

one day we’ll laugh and cry 

and cry and laugh about it all again

with the leaves on the trees softly sighing 

all around us. 

Some days, 

we just want to come close to dying

to feel like we’re alive. 

Boy, 1901

Take my shackles, take my bones,

take my shelter, take my home.

Take me with you when you’re not alone.

Take sides, take fights, take lefts, take rights,

journey us away and stay

and pray with me. Stay with me. Be brave with me

past police men suited full, swirl,

see you in full, swirl,

hope with me for a beautiful world.

Fill cracks in the building walls with,

some gum you left in your wallet,

we’ll tape them shut and hope to god that our plans don’t go on stalling.

Fly kites too close to the sun

to bite too slow and be shunned,

watch the chances dance and prance us round

cathedrals preaching, teaching

messages of St Francis,

and then float away.

Watch the moments with me.

Cast the dark out and flee.

See the golden arrow

pierce the sparrow then

make a stand, make your mark.

Make your plan, take my heart

and come away with me. 

Perhaps, Maybe

I see you,

in the halfway point between consciousness

and lucidity. 

.

You do that

thinking thing you do about the future and the past but

never the present

.

Where I am.

Next to you beneath the sky painting pictures of lonely roads,

and tired feet.

.

You flash your

smile that glues my soul together, even if for a second or two,

and I am unbroken. 

.

I wish that

you knew you were as beautiful as you are, your skin nestled neatly around

a breath-taking whole.

.

You make me

want to be better. To believe in good. To believe in

love, again,

.

like it was possible.

Relic dreams of that “if,” relic dreams of that

"Perhaps. Maybe."

.

So don’t

turn away and drop your gaze. Please don’t remove yourself from 

my hallowed heart.

.

and

.

Stay for

another round of scrambled eggs and tea. Make me whole and

don’t disappear. 

.

Please.

A Mysterious Prologue

I sat there, full of longing. Full of almost everything else I had pushed out of my mind weeks ago and at the same time, full of the empty nothing I had filled my entire being with.

The sand stuck between my toes made the crevices feel like they were on fire. I curled my toes anyway.

I lit my seventh spliff that afternoon and took a deep drag, feeling the Big Buddha Cheese engulf the tarnished insides of my lungs. I tugged at the hospital tag bound to my right wrist and tried to snap it free but it wouldn’t budge. They must make these things out of some new unbreakable plastic or something. Science. I don’t know. I never made it past high school so science ain’t really my gig.

I took a swig out of the carton of chocolate milk I had wedged in the sand in between my legs and looked straight out into the sunset. There are very few moments I remember in my life, but that was one of them. The beach, weed, the sunset and chocolate milk. No better way to spend my last few hours on earth.

Somewhere behind me, a police siren echoed down from a few blocks away, getting closer. I knew they’d trace my call sooner or later so I kicked back and lay facing the crumbling clouds above me. I closed my eyes and drifted slowly back to where I usually go. I was ready for them. 

22% Imperfect

I can feel it somedays, if I push my fingers deep enough.

Like a trawler casting a net into an ocean made of

jell-o. 

I weave and dig up and around the layers better

than any surgeon can. 

Beneath that, my hidden sculpture. David, engulfed.

Hard muscle and bone that bustles just under the surface

of what the world has made me believe is imperfection. 

Them that dictate the laws of surface value who say it needs 

to be cut off. Shed. Burnt. Like a disease.

I am indicted with the charge of hedonism, 

and pleasure that clung onto its ankles, from an early age. 

But it doesn’t say much, does it? What you see with your eyes.

Just as much as the colour of your skin can’t tell you 

how much money you make. 

Or how the number on some certificate can’t define the 

real capabilities of the muscle inside your head, throbbing with life,

with intelligence that maybe you can’t even see. 

Your fat percentage says nothing about the type of life you live. 

It may tell you the type of body you have,

or tell you the body you want to have,

but it can’t ever tell you the type of person you are. 

So I treasure my bubble wrap,

protecting the adonis underneath it. 

Though I struggle somedays to pry my hands away from

scrutinizing them, 

to pry my mind away from the thought of slicing it all off

with a big knife and letting the doctors handle my blood loss, 

I promise I’ll learn to love what I have 

If you promise to learn to love what you have. 

We’ve defined perfection before.

We can do it again. 

La Vie La Fucking BofuckingHeme

Searching for some end of the rainbow

in my boxers at

3 in the morning

muted replays of spongebob squarepants

emptying a second bottle of red

and a pack of cigarettes

I have Clair De Lune on repeat in the background

because Debussy understands where I’m coming from

when I cry that I am unfathomable in my loneliness

that the emptiness within my bones

is indescribable.

Where is your viva la boheme now?

Where was the respite

your people found?

Where was the happiness they cared so little about

yet found every hour of the day?

Because all I see at the end of this rainbow

is the cold hard ground

I jumped away from at the blossom of the spectrum.

All I crash back into

is the fractured soul I slipped out of.

No relief greets me.

No relief saves me.

Your voice comes not as grace,

only silence that I ran away from.

Only silence that I fell away from.

Please don’t leave me in my shell.  

Thorn Without a Rose

An ocean of birds mirroring 

the restless tide below it, meeting

in the heart of the thunderstorm they stirred. 

Find yourself alone amongst the company of

a thousand others just like you. Entrancing rhythm 

of intuition that you breathe with. 

Maybe I’ll be with you someday.

I would want to be with you someday. Up there 

lost in the wisp of the white.

In the myriad. 

In the chorus of voices, in the ghostly choir in my head. 

Did you know?

That’s where i find you. That’s where I feel you. 

And maybe,

You might be that someone who might find me too. 

Pull me apart at every wax 

of your silence,

Put me back together again

at every wane of your indifference. 

You disappear though, 

like you were never there at all. 

Psilocybin Psilocin

It happened in a deep breath of air I took to numb the noise in my head.

I cut the threads from my consciousness that I held onto gingerly and 

I dissolved into the tapestry. 

I lost the will to form cognitive thoughts.

I lost the ability to form sentences with the voice in my head.

All at once, I was communicating with the living intelligence of

all things around me.

Their wordless exposition spoke volumes within me and

warmed the snow that had frozen itself onto the walls of my veins.

The stillness around me grew life and fed on the energy I was

throwing at it with the squints of my eyes.

I saw happiness blossom like a forest flower,

the conundrum of being alone without being lonely

cleared the disease that had melded into my bones.

The colour of the music jumped stronger out at me and I could see,

I could understand poetically and structurally 

the scales, the walking bass notes and the drawled drones.

In that paused stretch of time I was an eternity’s wait from respite,

I was an eternity’s breath away from salvation.

I was an eternity’s infinite shortness of breath.

I was happy. 

I was happy.

Spellbound

My dreams are no good stuck inside

my head.

Behind the closed drapes of my eyelids

I hold your hand and we’re laughing.

Daylight breaks my imagination so

I choose to stifle in the dark.

There we dance to Joni,

there we dance to John. 

I am safe there waking lonely,

I am smiling, chorusing songs.

Be different this time, so

I don’t have to disappear.