it amazes me
that ancient people did not know perspective
that they followed their pharaoh
like ants into the battle of San Romano
where a cuckoo named Uccello
flew down and crushed them
that ancient people all dressed the same
they all built the same houses
and worked the same work
until a giant honey bee like an angel
crawled over their land like a Bosch monster in a cauldron
the scale of reason
it’s size and shape
falling like fruit
through branches
falling like a stone
inside an avalanche
falling like a comet
into a star
trapped like an animal
free inside a stampede
beautiful like a jewel
ugly like a meteorite
falling onto dry land
starting a fire
falling onto rain soaked land
to expire
trying to catch
the fireball of reason
trying to hang on
to a unicorn
the unicorn
leads the way
through minefields of unknown aggressiveness
over lands divided by many rising rivers
the unicorn
leads the way
through the slaughterhouses of affections
across the race track of our minds
and coming into its homeland of love
our reason brings us home
the conflict within us
the two warring sides
in the clearing
male or female
good or bad
life or death
in the clearing
the unknown wood
where things hide within us
the witness to our self
that sees our self
that comes with messages
dream parables
abstracts to replace
the truths we cannot face
Is there a god inside us?
our self
is there a spirit overall?
is there a maker of thoughts?
a maker of feelings
if there is
then
if it is a weak self-god within
are we weak
if there is a strong self-god within
are we strong
our inner god can be good and bad
within us
so we are not perfect
is our inner god our soul?
is our inner god
interconnected?
does our inner god
need to be interconnected to be whole?
with what’s in our hearts and heads
sometimes we even talk to our selves
in a normal way
do our inner discussions
form a continuous changing inner god
our godliness within us
is our best or worst as people
the physical world can change us
can attract us
are we then we are still human?
part of this is our conscience
this seems to be the rock
that our whole being is anchored to
Two women are cowering in a clearing
Two men seem to tand above them
Maybe they are secret policemen
In the background there is a wood
Or is it a series of fiery explosions
A person hides afraid to be seen
One man has no arms and where he stands the flowers are unharmed
Where the other man stands the flowers are crushed beneath his feet
Also the two women wear floral dresses
One of the two women appears to be trying to stave off the man
who stands on the crushed flowers
The other woman appears to be asking for help from the man without arms
The social history of the Sahara
Is six thousand years of sand
The pyramids sell the newspapers
Of this sand, that sand, sand here, sand there
The Daily Sand
The well looks up like a dry frog
At the sky of yesterday, today, tomorrow
The camel forgets if it has lived or died
Is it happy, is it feeling sorrow?
And time bears down like a red hot anvil of cloud
Not aware of the nights or the days passing
No one can get into my mind
Its clouds of loneliness
The life inside compressed
Once only days – piled up untidy
Like the holes in tags, untied to
Loves I never loved and those I never knew
The king’s ship made from oak
But the oak wood is no more
Out at sea a mysterious illness
Kills all those on board
By and by the ghost ship
Grew a wood
Masts sprouted branches
For resting migrating birds
The decks became pierced
By acorn roots
A floating island in the sea
Alone for all eternity
Shackles on the poor
Hands tied by shadows
That come out of the wind
And takes them to the gallows
Shackles on the poor
Sealed up by man’s law
Miracles stand hopeless by
The tips of fingers sore
Shackles on the poor
Who are crying out for peace
Who hoped that their vegetable patch
Would become a golden fleece
Shackles on the poor
As Christ is taken away
The silver rain begins to fall
On another empty day
Running out of logs
Running out of firewood
Bodies in the Ganges
Bodies without love
Virus torn countryside
Virus torn town
There are no sides
Between mankind
Just a virus in a gown
Drifting over no-man’s land
Soaked in peoples tears
Drifting triumphantly
Obese with people’s fears
Running out of firewood
Running out of love
