clay people pt II

clearly conceived is the future, 
and presently visions materialize

a twin, an equal
a hybrid of 2 + 40
the irises of insight
the darker corners of a generous smile

as if the dead ends and death were holding patterns
to keep me here
keep me where,
until
just as when I 

and here I was:
"how can polarities exist in the same global body?"
of course they do, it is I, libran utopia
its name is balance,
the dance I desire

and I love being stung
myself, the air on fire
rushing down the river
some reminder I am
flesh and blood,
water and stone

it is all right here, as summer blooms
the world is on fire

eyes piercing through the atoms of my ecstasy
we will never have to sleep again

all you have to do is ask

manopubbhangama dhamma
manosettha manomaya

clay people

as soon as I’m courageous enough

to be foolish

I fall in love

immediately — 

totally inebriated 

by the world proliferating

beyond the threshold

of their faces

I want to reach inside

and touch every inch of them

we could lie down and never get up again,

traverse the valleys and mountains of 

the world between the membranes

of our skin

and I’d feel satisfied 

november nostalgia

legs up the wall reading poetry
as in twenty fifteen
except
I am sober
and less licentious

winter, sick as anything,
Pōneke, carving shapes into bodies
the composer, brilliant and
grossly underpaid

there was always
"success" 
and then
a dead end

start again, start 
again
this week, how the bills ?
dumpster dive and sublet
I didn't need anything
just a body beneath me, now and then

I miss the volatility of it
I miss dreaming and dancing it into being
I miss ___________

but I do not miss
smoky eyes, volcanic skin, asphyxiated lungs
I do not miss
the volatility of my own head

karakariki

and suddenly it all
makes sense again:
head under rushing water,
gentle wander through woods --

I remember the reason
why my feet should walk this earth

I couldn't tell you what it is, but
(it is being)
I relocate it within me

and it is all like this:
wither, incubate, bloom
forever and forever
and ever (even) beyond death

cannon

your goodbyes awkward as his
and all everything, the same --
half a decade of subtle memories
sitting in a boy's body-mane

we go up
                \ the falls
(who held and hid me
mid-winter)

and I go back in time

The Universe and Everything
some weird pang of nostalgia
for a future never visioned

i can be
with /
         out it,

my only complaint is
i can't --
              feel --
                         
the water on my skin:
a decade demands modesty
though reversed, it's couture:
I could be with 42, the Answer to the Ultimate.

and my only other complaint is:
Slow ! Down !
there's no time to breathe or be
are you afraid of the stillness,
where we see and are seen ?

still, I like flying
let me get high with you
prayers answered on a rooftop
and he lived in the spare room

we go up up and up

I'm wise enough to know now
it's hormones and spinning seas

they churn 'em out bright these days
smart as phones and fearless worldly

I remember that
before the blood
and my heart on his sleeves

when I still manoeuvred magick
and whispered to the trees 

(each moon I crawl back into myself,
get reborn and come out kinder)

he told me I was selfish
but he doesn't have to bleed

tuuaahu tears

semi-permanently
are my eyes now

worn red
with life's heartache

Every
Thing
Feels like a Mis-Take:

the solitude I so 
desperately desire

enforced, rather than chosen

December '23:
I had no
idea

(no-one can see you crying

if it's pissing down with rain
if you've all got your

eyes 

closed, ohm)

my eyes
swollen like
my womb
the puncturing of which
began the tears

(this banshee comes out
only under the cover of bush)

swiping at the deadwood
as if it was his fault

grief festering in
my left lung.

unsurprisingly,
I'm sick

I'm ageing,
I'm dying

ngaaruawaahia in autumn

 I know where the words went ! -- oh,
     they were lost in
     not enough time 
     Spent Alone,
too little Timelessness --
     they dissolved into
     schedules, stimulus & strategies

-- nothing to do with
     inhale, exhale
 or
   creative sap
   running dry...

making love
    might bring them back.
hibernation, contemplation, full moon dreaming
    ... yes.

It's the shape & sound
    of a warm bed with an 
    old lover
this autumnal, transitional air

yes -- it smells like the majick I remember --

except --
      I am All Here. 
No smoke, 
      no mirrors
I still find myself in desire
      but I see it, quickly,
      easily. 

Visions -- Capital "V" Visions 
      can ride on the back of me,
      for sure --

it's City Energy
      in the dead still 
      of small town / middle of nowhere

this time, I will 
       Not Abort --
visions can and will and MUST
Descend to Earth. 

This I promise You:
We Will. 

Space will be carved out /
The most important thing
       done first. 

ropar, punjab

 i.
all in a rush
       the words return.
perhaps the rest, the reading or the bleeding
       drew them out. 
perhaps the heart unfurled
       as life was put on pause
       and purpose.
... whichever, they're here.

ii.
when I marry,
       I will marry a whole world.
what I love,
       what I have always loved,
       is the whole universe -- 
the sprawling branched limbs
       of a being
       suspended in dependent origin,
no part isolated
       nor whole in its own right,
and yet --
       imperfectly complete
       in perfect complexity.

iii.
there's little else to say,
       except to describe
the sheer joy
       of watching time and space /
       folding in
on itself. 

iv.
it should be your hand, mama
      carving forms, shapes, colours here;
instead,
       mine.
       revealing what's heard. 

defector

I wanna be like Jack
with a world for a pack 
and the fearless form of two legs

straight thru, east coast to west

I wanna nirvana my best hedonist heathenism

and kick up a sweat
rolling in dust 

I wanna dusk and dawn forever,

a scramble of beginnings n ends

and skip out the uncertain 

blur of choice; 

I want

whatever I want whenever I want it,

and what I want 

I want it

now

and I wanna be a right bikkhuni,

living with nuthin’ but praying 

all night,

waking up 

enlightened

I wanna get my legs out in the summer,

propped up on thick boots

and bloody cut knees

I wanna eat humble bread

and $15 cheese

and survive on nothing

but a lonely alms round

I wanna cook on fire and empty 

my desire under the embers of dying stars,

resenting the biological need

for sleep

resenting sheep and yet spinning

a regular 8-6, goddammit

(with plenty of coffee breaks

but never the dukkah of diabetes.)

I wanna live forever and die young.

I wanna live forever in the Sun

and become brown and crusty

I wanna be a goddamn Queen 

and break bread like Jesus, 

entrepreneurial the beheezus

out of modern capitalism 

I wanna play the game

and fuk it all up,

infiltrating from the

inside 

out

I wanna be as high as a kite 

and earthy as a bleeding bow

I wanna speak with immensely profound clarity 

that rambles on rhymes with no reason 

I want each and every season

every month

on tap

I wanna be in the present moment 

and I don’t wanna have to wait for it.

I’ll do whatever I’m told

and love resenting every inch of it

I wanna kiss the life back into cold loves

and stuff my hurt back into my

womb

and feed it blood and bone fertiliser

and watch it grow each moon

I want to give Him a baby 

and then hand it over,

a good honest Concubine

with full rights on Joy

I wanna go back in time

and forward in space,

I wanna see the empty atoms and
holes in my dead face.

I want to remember every acre of every
memory across the aeons;

build it \ tear it down,

and build it up
again

I want a narrow tunnel of a vision

and the deafening suck of the city’s hum

I want gentle drum beats and roaring karanga,

a mish mash of the 

21st mind that 

changes
every 

instant 

I want a proper diagnosis, a

checklist of “yes”,

a fat booming throat 

whose tongue lashes,

“NO!”

I want to know time 

before it happens.

I want 

out

and I want

in. 

I want the 

nekkhamma of poverty

and the 

ability to give-give-give endlessly, honestly…

I want a First Rate Lover

with little-to-no defects;

As New, a

World of Worldly Wisdom

\ Made To Order;

a strictly monastic companion

bought On Tap.

Down into the big, gaping gap we’ll reach

and gasp, “Oh God!” when we

touch the Void.

right off the edge we’ll fall,

knowing it all all at once

and with

nothing to show

for it

down the rabbit hole we’ll swim and

never
come back for daze

and of our esoteric ways,

friends and strangers alike will say,

“gee, what a pair!”

Oh! what a cocoon we’ll spin,

us two fantastic beasts

(who knows where to find ‘em)

and from the soft, silky threads of us

we’ll catch

every

last

little 

fly

And then

we’ll die —

just to do it all again

but maybe… better,

next time.

sundays again and never

forever in the dusk
I want to be
dappled in evening sighs
and amber shadows, thighs
tanned and bare and hair
slightly wet

how much higher can we -- ?

your hands \ my ankles
I melted seven years through time
you took off your socks

that sweet relief

she runs over my chest
and into my hearteries
over my abdomen 
and behind my broken knees

I wish you would see me like this
I wish I would let you
I wish we
I wish I