I’m with Stupid.

By | 1 February 2016

What surprises me most is being
coincidental. If we really believe
it’s the end, it doesn’t matter
how much this evangelism costs.

The economy’s shaking. His trolley holds
twenty kilos of rice, ten litres of water.
Everyone thought I was strange in Christchurch
then we got The Big One. Good luck, I said,
you’re going to need more water.

Such imperfection. It eats
what was recently purchased,
the high of salvation thin as old sheets.
Get the song between your teeth;
sound moves inside us then we move to let it.
Do it professional: put yourself to one side.
In hard times, sociopaths rise.

While you were crying you got snot in your eyes.
Her life story is her story, not her life.
The fierce stones of Greece
have gifted us democracy, so we argue
which never convinced anyone,
just made good television.

200ks per hour
gales take roofs. New all-you-can-fly ticket.
Government money for a sanctuary.
civil libertarians
my powers of apprehension
Each response to the challenge
of Self-Management falls on a continuum:
Productive to Absent.
One day, always having to be right
will be counted among the disabilities.

th end s in sight.
Thank god. The hard bit’s been knowing
I won’t be around to see how this turns out.
As one of the minor characters
(let’s face it) in this genre
I’m sure to be killed off
by a giant wave, one of those deaths
deep enough for a close-up
a snatch of fading breath, some tears.
If it’s not happening
we don’t have to do anything
and if it’s fucked we can’t do anything
we flip between these extremes.

nature vs. narrative
A tale carries the idea
to the mind through the soft body.
Talk in miracles, smoke in the car,
a tangle of weeds at the throat.
There’s no charming the oppressor.
Give up the myth of reversible power.
The lord gives and he takes.
Find other ways to be safe.

Black tattoos on a white, white face.
How beautiful the deliberate lie
they had time to work on it. Letters
stich and drop. Kiss me like a bad garden,
the lazy mural that lasts for years.
I don’t need any evidence.

At the end of the earth we learn to dance.
Your arms get tangled in your legs.
I’ve suffered a lot but then who hasn’t, he said.
Though I’ve watched since it was a dark mess
the lifting light shows a shift
when I look
look back
I can feel the click.

This entry was posted in 72: THE END and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.