current fragments

I face the heavens but cannot breathe

So I turn to the right hand Path

where

Once, sand gathered at the head

Of the bed

from the shore a day before, where a

Dog comforted my boreal

Grief ( or

Of

Soil from

The garden of the dead)

---

I turn to the left hand path

Banks

Of thirst

from

rivers beneath , starving tangible dark growth  

lifeless crib

rigor mortis

---

Face down, I avoid the ecstasy of hogties 

devoid of blood pulsing 

My drowned avatar 

my criminal

my star flag of David 

films of final breathing

---

this shoulder then, still knows the damage of crosses carried 

that dangerous temper

the agitation of cancer, stricken 

the sounds of last stations and hours

–

• to the centre then, the ancient 

mortier of dirtied light and static 

father of white noise

glaucoma gift for a 4K world

---

I

she bends her spine backwards

she in her glitter, sequined, crystal top 

a limbo rock 

wavering form

inverse cobra 

she, with her two white men in layered suits

bank vault  bodies

I chase them out of the house 

( my motherlode / motherland ) 

“get the fuck out !”

but without the energy of rage or malice 

•      it’s an emptying of the house  – to remain in sacred unlit spaces, untouch the debris 

the cold electrical wires sticking out of plaster

maybe a ‘time from before’ exorcised 

the comfort of vacancy

• (backtrack) 

like a corpse on a bus is he

sits he in flesh and skeletal frame

 too small for starched white shirt

 blackened oversized pants

I can almost smell his

skin of wax 

hair hardened formaldehyde 

pale as the horse from endtime 

I sense he’s an otogoya 

coming back to life

dropping snake scales from our eyes 

to chase away squatting spirits from the house

making space for landscapes

“washing out the womb” 

40

the 40th venture of septu
(last from this timeline)
into final recesses / recess / recedingness

limbs lost / regrown
knees scraped by desert sand
frenched in rain / orbits cycling outwards, away from each other

the 40th wall of tespu
terminal / buried in lichen / redacted data

life slips from the phantom cab
bleeding out oil into cacti
minions stretch out under the stars, naked
some taken away by lights

drenched in rain

final species of plant medicine
shared among elders, younglings, distant watchers
orbits realign
planets disappearing into
sidelines / starfall

final gravity

last of the meteors

temporal zones for retreat
vernacular of the time bandit

38

38

we moved through the vast hanger and found signs of the cities within

Subcultural artefacts, colour coded documents, symbols of prior cybernetworks, stacks of pointless currencies

there were elevators on street levels that led to underground corridors, glassed from the outer world like endangered creatures, cautiously handling plant medicine

34

34

they communicate with me from a place my body can’t go

activity, scenario, environ as language 

stripped of concrete signs but imbued with knowing

I heed the unseen but also grapple

80% trust 20% doubt 

the training ends, payout secure 

but there’s, I thinks price I pay, some 20%

23

23

components of bread on a white plate
hospital eating table
armchairs alongside corridors, sick people in fetal positions
a mothers’ heart stops. she stops breathing.
she comes back. current status unknown.

Meat curled or layered on a plate
tables turn. men, foreign to each other.
tables as routes as illness as health. tables adjacent. table of the tabernacle. components of bread on a white plate.

21

kneeling
subservient
third world country

I know this dirty staircase
this filth filtered sunlight

I’m not on my knees
I’m bent low
suckling on the most black first
then the cream of a lighter shade
there’s the sickly yellow
and the whitest last

the serving is modest
but I’m bent low
finishing every drop
by soot and noise and street

13

13

strange diversions that began with night and ended with night

farther and farther from home but close visitations to a place once called home

the journey is prolonged, through winding streets blinding lights, silent hospitals, riverbeds

absent turns, dissolution of minutes

the wrong bus is taken, night  deepens 

it’s an obscure moon as we reach interchanges 

other gender profiles look around confused as we enter the place of trees

 this is our final stop but have not ended 

we are carrying a green obstacle, a stellar thing that mixes signals and open the ways

the lady in red is a perspiring statue, loaded with godhead and grievances 

her black obstacle calls to our green obstacle but we do not lock eyes. 

the other people around us stand up, make retching noises and look like they have lost blood. Our talismans turn to hide their faces in our bodies 

it is not yet our time to go

We could have reached home days ago but  the sound of loud motors move in and out our heads and we remain at the station, motionless 

the signal says our transport has arrived, we stand and peer west but see nothing.  things fall as if error of gravity but it is the errors in our minds that have troubled realities

our muscles yearn for warmth, for running water, for close proximity. Then finally, we find ourselves in the swerving of lights

nth & x’th day

day 9

K is full of film
spooling inside her,
red bulb in dark room
pictures appear
a time, a street, a motel,
built then gone
long before she was born

tespu tells me
“her soul moves from body to body”
(Mara, Marian, Daphne, Nicole)
(she’s faithful from age to age, just like her master)

“she’s a model for your myth”
my maiden, my fuck toy, my witch
“the ‘her’ you die for and live with”

I too have moved
from body to body
(Jhon, gHos_haus, Monroe, Lore)

we are DNA strands intertwined, two changing stars in a fabled Armageddon

the blind one is taking photos of me
(to show me my histories, my forms)
the blind one is taking photos of tespu
(to show us his passage, his norms)
Kae keeps these copies
warm in her body.
Letting them grow, letting them fester, letting them fathom.

day 10

Theology of the blind one of many doors (partial)

only the young one knows a little of the blind one,
but tespu knows all, for they are all of tespu,
the all in this room is not the all of the larger house
And there are many more houses still, crouching on the unknown street, ever changing
Sometimes with two doors, sometimes with none
Sometimes a building, sometimes a hut, sometimes a bunker, sometimes a skyscraper
appearing, disappearing from the neighbourhood

Oh mysterious neighbourhood
where ghos_haus stands, that magick shop, corrupted by the outer echelons of slutter gutt, steaming in the red light districts of ATON, calling our souls to erotic nest
into the city, the wombs of night, to which the outher ones belong
they, who are mere organs in the body where cities converge
The cities a mass of flesh and glass and stone and volcanic ashes
Body next to body in the room which is a land, stretched and curled and handcuffed and fornicating
Sea fucking sky fucking space fucking Sheol

Pillars of lightning and fire
spearheading the spreadeagled superblackhole
one of many in the tomb full of tombs, in an underworld full of other worlds
the upper worlds
the current worlds
Inside the greater world that’s outside the outer world bound by the utter world
as
one thread in a legion of realities
Spun like rays of light from a disco ball, in a ball room where the blind one and the young one dance to the music of the luminous void

day6-day8

day 6

three theologies of sand
I
‘the ark’
remember the monolith
alien and nocturne
marooned and colliding near the shore
long before the suez
the breath that touched me at the beach
II
‘the 100th day’
children playing in the sun
splashing in the sea
my heart breaks with pain and freedom
my heart mends with freedom from pain
I’m with mother near the shore
III
‘post-resurrection’
where did the sand come from?
pooled next to the head of mothers’ bed
I cannot explain its presence
I only remember the threads
connecting dream to room to reverie

---

the seventh day
starts off in a lab with fish tanks
popcorn chicken pieces wriggling like new born mice in my hands
quickly, they turn into curled hamsters
ferocious, anxious, leaping from my palms
I bend to their higher worlds
scoop them up from a nest of twigs

I’m out on green fields
hamsters turn into dogs that run to me
‘like long awaited lovers’
“They’ve grown longer, better furred” tespu says
“Is this your sign of return?” I ask him. He does not respond.
he turns into a chattering Eurasian woman
who sees, as I see,
the cocker spaniel, ready to poop

the woman has wrapped the two dogs up like burritos
(Or in a cheesy way without cheese, ‘hot dogs’)
and because of her faith, or responsibility
She packs up the poop in microwavable foil.

she hands me all three burritos in a bag.
the creatures break free from the wrap
they spill out as roasted chicken meat onto the floor
the cocker spaniel has turned into a chicken wing, mostly deboned
the meat wriggles on concrete
maybe I’m to eat them
like some strange sacrament
‘this is my body, this is my dog’

---

day 8

the mistaken union (previously unreleased)
there is no matrimony between us
we are incursions and errors
wrong codes for the right line

I am not your waters of life
you are not my fabled shore
I am not your host
you are not my parasite
we are on a bridge above the world
Impotent impostors in the place of creation
you shall not be graven, I shall not be grave
we were simply, falsely labelled as exits

but see, the black door is half open
you can enter its gate or leave the room
your river is already given
follow my gaze, but not into this soul
It is not yet primed for your kingdom

watch for the light that I see far away
follow with courage, do not be afraid,
another king shall guide you, for I cannot give you rest

day5

the mystery of k.kawaii (alt take)
the soft world, cools her, holds her when it breathes
burning strands of tobacco sizzles on her skin
her heart is a glare of television night
her hand will reveal the end signs, shot on large format cameras
these archetypes are not her archetypes
she is not born for those times
but those times will conceive her
in motel rooms, in a cave, on a ship, near a tomb
her mouth opens for a lighthouse, her hair longs for the highways,
her sounded bends to the constructs in the east
“there are mourners beneath the tree of tespu, on his mountains, children will play”
the soft world pushes her out to sea
and like schools of fish, drowned tuxedoes follow
there are bridal showers behind her eyes
there are glowing drifts of tobacco leaves, touching black paint on her lips
she does not want to remember the film
but the film is an infant that feeds her