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My Garden GreenMy garden green, my koi-pond blue.In the sky, the lightning flashes.All around, the rain pools slowly.In my eyes, the blood comes drifting:Metal moves with twisted pleasure.Shouting, cursing, a move, he chokes,He falls, grotesque, lies at my feet.On the grass, his blood pools acrossMy garden green.I plant them when the sky is grey -I know they'll soon begin to grow.Hurry now, my blood flows quickly.Hurry now, the lightning passes.Another body joins me inMy garden green.
To ImmigrantsWho are you? No, not your name - who are YOU?I want to open you up (like a box), and pull the stars out.I'll throw them to the night sky, and they will be yours, ours, everybody's.Step forward -I don't care what you wear, nor who your parents are, what country calls itself part of your soul, who is the prime mover of your universe, what colour your skin is so artfully painted.I'm dying to know what ingredients you'll bring to this/my/your/our country's stone soup.Step forward, stand out, and bring me your heart.I want to marvel at the ancient oak, or rowan, birch, pine, cedar, whatever it is that comprises your family tree.You are the newest seedling, the farthest outpost.Come here, here by the ocean where all things end, where all things begin - come by smooth rocks and cold winds, and smile at what we ha
to look up--the sky is a page andi amthe eye that reads its wordsi amlike a sailor in the time of incomplete maps,the oceans above, to me, are boundless.in quantum recursion:the raw blue ions trace concentric paths,overloadingmy retinas - illuminated infrared byrefracting dawn....in my head,the sky seems like a real place;yet:clouds -when i traveled among themevaporated - slowly - into mist.heights are relative at a logarithmic scaleearth is a billion fathoms longor as many yojanas deepbut the familiar blue (obviously!)is an old friend,a blanketclose enough to touch.waves,like clouds,are transient.when the rain comes, i’m awareit’s not permanentbut neither is its lucky absence.my friend above never stays the same.here's a coda:even the roof of the world,sometimesdisappears.at nightour atmosphere slowly dissolvesrevealseven the sunhas brothers.
Phosphene Credowe are flowers against the abysswe are wounds yet to heal in god's skinout of which vibration will pourwe are arc lightspowering the omnimax eyes of the universedying every secondfor painfor funwe are supernovasyet here we sit in the dustashes rather though we would bewe are sparks that fly from the campfireour lives devoted to chaoswe are shooting stars burning against human willwe are entropynitroglycerin hearts forever beating themselves to deathwe are alivewe are aflamewe are the skyand one daywe will fall on youand you will be powerlessto stop us