Posts Tagged ‘dirt’

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Take it through the moonlight to a center of beatific wisdom in the sky

Break it through the half-light on an unfamiliar globular mass

Make it with porcelain maidens whose expressions and breasts long for consequence

And never give up never break down never surrender

Until you have made synchrony out of dust

Slake your thirst with gorgeous wines while breaking into pieces

Wake up to a blurred suggestion of being out of style with a smile

Shake up paradigms that cut and symbols that caress like feathers

Until your hands are scuffed by dirt and there is vivid imagining

Snake it down cramped pathways in search of cigarette butts

Hate it from angelic spirit beings out of hopeless obligation

Ache it in co-ordination with random out-of-touchness

Until your heart is full as an egg and you pick the right alternative

depression

Too much hate

Too much pain

Not enough love

Suffering again

 

Too many victims

Too many lies

Fucked up system

Innocence fried

 

More misery drifts in

Like acid rain

Eating out the body

No memory remains

 

Sinking in self pity

Feeling like a creep

Can’t take it anymore

Yet again can’t sleep

 

How much longer

Enveloped in dirt

Sunk below a graveyard

At least it doesn’t hurt

 

dirtyroom

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a squat
A homes-westy kind of festering junkie den of dankness
When there’s crap all over the floor and dirty plates creating no stepping zones
The coffee table hasn’t been cleaned in months has black impasto layers of dirt
Just missing a couple of skanky junkie prostitutes nodding off in the corner
Now that would be cool

My sheets have a substantial amount of sand, dirt and guinea pig poo on them
Fortunately they’re black
I can never keep the doona cover on, so the doona is a dirty white slug on my bed
There are empty cigarette butts on the floor as I have been raiding my butt collection
It’s a miracle I get out of the place looking clean and moderately respectable sometimes
The wonders of showers and deodorant I guess

I wonder if I’d clean up my act for a good woman
Perhaps- anything is possible though not probable
I do kind of love my filth
I revel in many forms of corruption and depravity
So do the guinea pigs
They are piggies like me

river

The river crawls glacially
Glass reflections reiterating of surrounding bush
Eucalyptus trees lean over water
Glistening sunlight ripples
Cool depths calling out
A a barramundi flicks the surface and willow branches caress water
A Paperbark like an old man’s hand on the edge
Reflections of the burnt holes like evil empty eyes
A dragonfly buzzes an erratic line across the water, occasionally hovering
Occasionally a kookaburra celebrates the day with glorious cackles
Red dirt desert all around but here there is life
Life embracing life and surging through the pores of reality
Watch out for Crocs!