A social site for poets in Sydney.
Glowing pearls of time are shucked from my oyster morning
as the slow rocking of a boat-weekend lulls me into sweet complacency.
I am a god,
I am the ruler of the golden light and keeper of warm secrets.
I am the womb-egg and the death-scythe,
the complete nothingness of the unfinished everything that teases the world with its uncertainty.
I have The Key and The Answer.
I know The Thing To Do.
But the tides will not tolerate absolutism, and they come
like vestiges to claim me. They sweep me up in a white-wash of fate and supplant me on a dune of humanness.
I am arms and legs and flesh,
I am nothing but need.
Still the sun will dance
it’s red ballet
Still it’s rays
will call the day
into another’s cycle,
and you will lose you
in the order
of someone else.
In the background,
the Gods will laugh,
and the serpent will wind his poison tongue around the dead tree of your heaven.