• July 20, 2012
  • Georgia Keighery
  • Guest


First light dives through bamboo blinds,
butterflies in shadows on white-washed walls.
The sun roused Buddha statue
gazes at the life-size skeleton
in the corner, guesses its next incarnation.
Two cats stretch and yawn away savannah dreams,
slink through chair legs like wind through branches.

The never-sleep streets are awake already,
market stall voices joust through air still
drenched in sounds and the stench of drunken drawl,
tall tales, chasing tail, drug sales and bar brawls.
An un-clawed paw swipes his cheek and he stirs.

Caffeine hit, cigarette, cat food, shower.

Ten am she saunters through the door,
disrobes and takes up her face-down
position on the padded table.
Her face peeps through the face size hole.
He kneads away school runs, deadlines, high heels,
hidden texts, debauched weekends and dead marriages.
He knows ears lie, not lips, so he listens
to insights ignite on hers and ember
with new forms.

This is his therapy, the world spins his way,
his bathrobe, hot oil sixty minute cicatrix.
He lets his mind wander time’s slender spine
and pauses
on vertebrate moments.

Planets spin on a black star speckled spinning top,
the universe is his spinning top
and the silvered sand of a moon bleached beach
his bed. Figures ripple and weave like nymphs
to the beat which tears through the treacle air.
He feels her lioness eyes burn through
the vibing bushfire of bodies.
The air pulls taut like skin on a drum,
sand grains fall one by one as if through water,
beat on his leg like boulders from the fingers
of that man. His open shirt shows a secret
scratch which glows red as guilt. She catches
a glance which smoulders for a blink too long.

‘Mark, are you listening?’

Her voice shatters the scene and shards refract
night into day, into night into day.



Extra See

Fans and spokes of blue green violet lasers
blaze through black. Palm trees spring from marble
bar tops, misplaced nature back-dropped by cocktail
shaking dark angels and flaming
Sambuca pyramids.

Thousands draw round like iron filings
to the man with the electromagnetic
tune-scape. Nuclear music, melodic fission,
beats peak and splay between skin cells like sunrays
through rutilated rainclouds.

Rolling eyes, crumbled concepts of I,
eye-lines rise and fall like flailing rice grains
on a drum beat beater’s drum.

Each thought crests and dies, the mind a palimpsest
alive with freeform fractals, quicksilver
liquid sylph electricity.

We wear our veils starched and inverted
reality tails on eagle wing mind
dragonfly free with Alpine clarity.

Minutes, hours flash by like strobe lights
astral insight fades to jaded daylight.
Cells in cells imprisoned once more
in the every-day dream.



Written by Danny Dawson


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