Mute Aikido

the poet has the stealth of fox

strolling to the beat of urbanite sleep

the bluest cantrel of candle flame

Molecules writhing in oblique hurricanes against impartiality

Its monarch is flowing water.

that gave cause to the moon and vanity to the sky

Its the blinded messenger galloping across plains shouting “It’s great to be alive”

like a strong afternoon in the silence of Bhudda

It chews fat with heroes and heretics

that chaperone your spirits

and tumours the spleen of the beast

whose aura is the stench of trans atlantic slavery

It is imbued with eternal youth

nauseas among oceans of people seeking salvation and cradles their seventy year slot

only to be eluded, like boats without islands

Their wingless questions criss-crossing solar waves hoping for destinations;

beyond the cosmos of our atoms

I envy the animal within that understands itself

It knows why it wants to howl and to fuck and to eat

in awe of the orb sweet yellow angel

that screams in ultra violet pitch through her hydrogen halo

Yet never does the intellect leave home without their goldfish bowl

That ‘A’ list celeb in the mirror

That inescapable escape in the apparent absence of god

It’s the wallpaper of ghosts that are mistreated

Such scaffolds of fragility are we

Such design features

Maybe I should get out of the boundaries of flesh and blood

And just get on with it

Cause sometimes I feel like energy that will never die

Nor stopped by matter when I fly

From karnak lectures

listening rewards me music

To this I succumb with pleasure

Where I might find heaven

I digest social contracts, being a vessel for temperament

as a particle of mass like a speck of beach ball dust

A cancerous spec of B grade species and evolved primate

From micro organic amphibians to paragons of evolution
to nicotine sucking by-products of our own food chain

Defined by data, immersed in illusion

Never;

does one leave home without their image

Even though everything changes

Except the speed of light

On nights when there is compulsion to breathe

I drive along the radial co-ordinates of my celestial Taurus

veering me down any road where there is no traffic

And breathe

And wonder

in stillness plagued with thought

vaguely anticipating connection

What temptation there is to love?

when hate is so much more compatible

But I know that the best artists have clay feet

and there’s no euphoria like running through fallen leaves