Do not forsake me the need to ascend.
We, in our platinum form
Do not require mothers, teachers, peers to remind us that one day the red soils will be left bereft of us.
We don’t require reminding.
Look down at yourself and consider your own outline.
We are shaped just so our eyes can compile us as human –
but not so that we require shaping still.
In the end, you can simplify.
Simplify yourself down. Until you are just circles, squares.
What is special about your own edge?
A human line, a form so easily replicated
It can be done by children in crayon.
A human line.
Allow yourself to ascend to your platinum form.

Count the stars ohh fairly dust
as the phantoms of love touch
in linguistic anticipation of chance
trading meanings, making winnings

In a room full of laughter and fantasy
on the different levels of unplanned
stormy felts of felt emotive response
of eons ago and pretense of the present

Count the stars ohh fairly dust
sprinkle this self sustainance in plenty
Unweighted and unchained from locks
clocks and clicks of despair and want

In a life full of obligation and expectation
Let me be within the dreamt memory
of the light casts of alone and bliss
as the night caress the unspent future

Eat the womb of your daughters,
And drink the blood of your sons,
Drag your spouse into the woods,
And whip them with thorns;

Prepare the cauldron,
And play the requiem,
Be drunk thirsty fellows,
Gladly fill your cisterns,

We shall fill the streets tonight,
As the righteous falls,
Creep into their childrens bunks,
And wait for the master's call;

"Waaaaake uuuup, waaaaake uuuup",
Quietly we will whisper,
And afflict them with sorrow,
And sink them in despair",

Do not cry dear parents,
When your children go astray,
It is us who have done it,
Yes, we desire it this way,

We run the final lap,
So rejoice children of the sun,
It will be over soon,
Then will our battle be won.

Abide by the letters of jupitar,
Do not trespass,
Read out with boldness,
Happy Ex- Mass

Once upon a September night,
When breaths were taking flight,
To the upper parts of the atmosphere,
Where the fellow stars shine bright.

A soul was looming around a room,
Wishing the navy sky would turn blue,
Losing hope for a while there, 
Till a newborn sun came into view.

The soul then elbowed the eyes,
To take in this overwhelming sight,
Ray by ray the world awakened,
She'd then wait for dawn every night.

Sweat breaks and distraction ends,
The sun counting the time she's spent,
As orange pastels start to melt,
Soul watched sadly where she went.

And everyday the cycle was repeated,
A soul waits, watches as a day fleets,
Her sad sighs the only acquaintance
She's made with the moon beam.

After every sunset comes a phase
When soul and heart start to pace,
Whispering their heavy troubles,
To the dim moon's lonely face.

Acquaintances became stronger bonds,
As more blues started ranging on,
The night spread like a blanket,
The moon always had a soothing song.

Yet the soul remained captivated,
Sunrises and sunsets always awaited,
Till hellos are farewell were exchanged,
She spent the rest of the night sated.

She preferred a glow intense and warm,
Never grateful for the moon's arms,
A moon that forever stayed,
As the sun's always come and gone.

Hidden behind a treacherous day,
Never welcomed nor awaited,
No moon-rise nor moon-set,
Taken for granted cause he always stays.

Soul never knew the truth,
She'd diffuse all her sorrow to the moon,
He'd always shine never dimming,
Did the departing sun ever listen to you?


So why are we so mesmerized by the sun,
When the moon's always been the loyal one.

Sometimes it starts
It's faint, but quaint,
Whispering across your skin
A breath, the fog
There's no need to talk
Silence is all you need
In your conflicting state of mind.

You sit, it speaks
Volumes to me
Words can't quite convey
Your thoughts, your feelings,
The rushes of contrary
Swirling in your contradicting states of mind

You hesitate, and take a little light step
Making a mockery of grace
But then you taste the rain in the air
You decide that life's never fair
Pretty or just, both seem to rust
Leaving you with the unrestful state of mind.

Long divorced from love,
owned three guitars
and slept with nine women.
Remembers every song,
every poem,
scarcely recalls their faces;
lilt of their tongue
as sleep took hold of them-
not him.

Trigger finger over the snapshot
through each baulk and ****** of passion:
"this is the poem, this is the verse
I can lay down in print
and finally live again."

Night sky too full of uncertainty.
Cannot observe a desert scene
without a commentary
on each unanswered question.
She is dressed in sequins
but what for the spaces in between?
He cannot accept filler,
blank spaces that intercede
moments of ineffable beauty.

Maddening crowds emerge,
bright-eyed and stupid
to each early, pink noise morning.
He awakes, drugged to the eyeballs,
slow to movement; formulation of words.

Each night a battle of sobriety
as the sun does bleed
in the skyline before him.
Each night a generation dies,
subtle points of light
lost in the noise of the modern day.
Screams pointlessly, without need:
"don't forget me, don't forget me..."
would rather leave a scar

than no mark at all.
Lives for the colours
he cannot see, for the common thread
that connects everything.
Tweaks the string of each broken seam

to expose each diversity,
each personal loss
as a collective sigh;
every sleepless night
as an off-white lullaby.
Born for collision
beneath a dying star,
long divorced from love;
he is married to art.

I'm b r e a t h i n g for the first time
Alive, what a surprise
The trees sing to me, I bask in their glory
I'm a piece of the universe, the universe is in me

I feel her when I'm b r e a t h i n g