Dissolving sandcastles

he said it hurts me too, yet
why am I the one always crying in front of you,
he said he cries in private, why
must I always be the one whose knees weaken and eyes glimmer
at your alter
I pray to you
and it’s not healthy,
weaning off you
your love is the most difficult substance to ease off of
teacherous lips, shh
just for a second,
I want to kiss you but it stings like poison nettle
prickles,
lingers, flickers but doesn’t extinguish,
burning, burning,
gets easier with time and distance, or so I keep repeating,
altered conversation, less affection,
this is good, this is painful,
those tender almonds peer into my oceans
I can’t contain the waves convulsing inside me,
I can’t keep building sandcastles without moats, around me
the grandiose structures keep dissolving,
he clasps my hand in his,
finger tips caressing my aching ligaments,
your pure feelings are tainted by my confusion
I think I love you but how can I be sure this is not another of my illusions,
to grasp onto you is to grasp onto the thing I can never hold onto,
we can’t hold onto ideas, it’s just that
sometimes we think we can —
when those ideas take form, a light beam projecting onto foreign flesh
we get excited and forget
what we see is what we feel,
our deepest desires manifest and we follow them like breadcrumbs leading to a fantastical house
but you are not home and I must learn to crawl out of your inferno
before our illusions swallow us whole,
I think I love you but
how can I be so sure that your sweetness isn’t tainted by loneliness,
I want to hold your hand when we walk along the promenade,
I want to link arms as we wander and discuss the stars
we’ve gone too far
merged our hearts
before we allowed our minds to entangle in a rapture of seeing beyond our own lenses
of wanting
life to be simpler than it ever could become
without the rapture of romance I finally see you
I’m starting to understand what you are, who you are becoming,
it took us more months than we’d like to admit to
scrub the sand from our eyes and blink into clarity,
disparate continents and tired thumbs
phone calls and text messages mask
the nuances,
can’t be technologically translated,
no tonal button that erases misinterpretation
you must say what you mean
or be done with it,
back in your arms
your laughter echoes as if it’s escaping shackles and chambers,
the curvature of your back to your butt makes me want to reach out and touch you
yet our separation separates our forms of expression
it hurts not to kiss you
but it would hurt more to reduce this bond we are reconfiguring
into a breath,
not now
but
maybe someday
I’ll feel your lips on mine and it’ll taste like honeydew and rosewater
like it did in the beginning

Sarajevo ricochet remembrance

You can still here the echoes of screams emanating from the parks and buildings
Rattling the bridges,
Drilling through cement
Bullet holes and residual gun powder
Falling in the dust
Blood stains filled in with paint
Held as a reminder, kept as a signifier of the new found freedom of an independent state
To know unrest was no more than 25 years ago
A siege of three and a half years
Living in constant fear
The unknown interrupted with bullet shells
Bombs falling from the sky
Into civilian homes
Echoing through the fresh graves at a funeral
death becomes more death
and life is a constant question mark,
in the name of power and national identity, in the name of financial security,
civil unrest and vague border lines
It seems long ago and alien
Until
you see it,
Until
you meet those that crawled along the border line
into the mountainous forest
to fetch water and medical resources,
until
you speak to those who lived through this
who saw their family and friends laying in a pool of blood on the cement,
sniper bullets pinging off buildings like an arcade game,
bullets shooting out from fighter planes embedding into forgotten flesh
grenades breaking through the ground like man-made metiorites
this was a war on civilians,
a genocide against non-Serbs and “traitors” of a nationalistic military regime
to claim land that is united by peace rather than ethnicity,
to claim more than what is served
in pursuit of dominating
separates people from humanity
to laugh in the face of a deluded pursuit is how sarajevo survived
after 1,452 days of Serbian military besiegement

Bad feelings aren’t always bad

My soul shudders when I keep it in a cage,
every day I’m getting closer to keeping out in the fields
away from the steel bars and heavy locks,
at first freedom can feel like torture
after you’ve imprisoned yourself for too long,
I don’t like this feeling
but I take it in, it reminds me that I’m as human as you,
it doesn’t feel stable
it just feels clearer than stuffing it behind mental bars,
Cat Power is on my shoulder,
whispering husky reminders that we can only be free once we crank open our metal-heart-cages and listen to our insides,
I trail through the valleys
of far-away plains
that much of the world has forgotten about,
you wouldn’t know it unless you looked up,
amongst these narrow, hollow barrels of lost signals
there’s a starry night sky,
and we all share the same light,
peering through our own eye capsules,
rocketing through our own plains,
I guess I missed the road sign
that told me to turn left,
makes my head twist
pulls my neck away from myself,
these days I seem to trail on, sometimes for too long,
but I see more than if I’d stayed on the Google-maps-path
of life choices
and chronological societally-normal
trigger points of study, work, house and what ever follows after that,
makes me yawn before I even finish considering it,
my instincts tell me it’s all rubbish anyway,
see the tea that drips from the strainer,
I want to taste every drop
without having to clean up the dried leaves and forgotten fragments
of a passed day
so I’m learning to compile all the lost files and process them through the shredder in my brain,
to manouver the obstacles as they come my way,
so that they’ll stop
tainting today,
clouding the way,
I don’t like this feeling,
I just prefer it more than being numb.

Midnight silhouettes

Do you need footsteps clicking beside you to remind you that you have friends,
did that last text message need to be sent,
when was the last time you checked in with yourself
before 3am,
mental breakdown-hour
mind-apocolypse,
it seems too easy to say that we were only ever friends
I guess it depends on what you do between the sheets
and we just shared each other under the layers,
no whispering of secret truths,
just dreamt out our insides side by side night after night,
it seems too simple to say that we forgot the most important dates of the year,
each day leaks into the next and we remember only when it’s too late to rehash who we were,
and what does it matter,
the things we told each other before we slipped into our midnight silhouettes,
you only say half of what you mean,
leave me guessing in between,
always something left unsaid
from both ends,
you don’t drink anymore,
said it was much too easy to drown your thoughts than let them out,
breathe in toxic chemicals that extinguish the burning neurons,
I’m left alone on the dancefloor when you’re too afraid of your mind to let me in,
it seems impossible to know
and guessing never helps,
the drizzle in the phone connection disperses the transgressions we tried to spear with our tongues
and lick off each others’ lips,
we told each other every secret we’d ever bundled inside ourselves
except the centrefold of our hearts,
you could never say we were only ever friends.

United States of Ventriloquists

​These circulating fish have teeth now and they know how to bite,
these rules have got us now and the keys are out of sight,
the Rothschild family is bathing in gold,
while bombs are dropping in Africa and the middle east,
blockades stomping over peace,
sending the best cameras and microphones and robotic reporters
to tell us that Africa and the middle east aren’t safe but the us will fix it,
the Western world grows from the seeds of fear and greed
supplanted by a poisoned seed,
believing that it must be Africa and the middle east that are the danger to ye,
Mk-ultra drilled through the left side brain of society,
we’re on the verge of an insidious WW3.

Blinded to see that the real enemy is
one part complacency
two parts widespread denial of logical conspiracies.

It’s all a game
back and forth,
weave around and take out the pawns,
can no longer hide behind the “I vote” stickers of a false democracy,
horses and sheperds in their high castles
guard the ivory towers that keep the powerful wealthy and the majority deceived,
pay attention to them not those in the pent houses, not those on TV.
Check mate.
We’re here again,
swimming with piranhas and hungry sharks,

there are more than two choices
there are more than two choices
there are more than two choices,

if you want to be free you must admit to yourself
that the reality you revel in is only an illusion,
everything is an illusion,
as long as you are aware of that, you can change the illusion.

Trust the media as much as you trust the government.
Do your research. Learn history from many perspectives.
Listen to the unpopular opinion.
Let’s not divide, nor condemn,
let’s stand by each other.

Breeze

Whenever you feel outta control of your life
take a step back,
look beyond yourself,
beyond your life,
the footsteps you’ve already traversed,
the falling eyelashes, dead skin, nail clippings and stray hairs,
the time, the time,
don’t try to control the day by day,
just flow with the natural progression of everything,
it’s easy to get caught up
in the small intricacies of the day to day
so sway,
the way the tide caresses the shore
stray,
the way the mind merges and drifts through the hand

Flight Of The Crane

A crumpled crane drifting
along the canal
with too many puncture wounds
sinks, almost drowns,
all it takes is just one small child or child-like mind
to resuscitate the deflated body,
to breathe an air of their soul into this wilting vessel,
as to glide above the water once again
and release all the things left unsaid,
to soar across the cloud trails and convey the weight of the world
that us conscious beings find so difficult to share

Stitchwork

I’m letting things stick that shouldn’t, like chewing gum clinging to the bottom of a shoe,
you can never quite pull off all the remnants,
the remains harden until they become part of the shoe,
the way these thoughts have been residing in my brain since I woke,
they’re going stale in here and it’s well past noon,
there’s a clock ticking in my peripheral vision
it spits out an old familiar tune
every 15 minutes,
clockwork makes us look backwards, to where we’ve been, who we’ve been,
takes me back to my childhood home in Tasmania,
situated diagonal from the town clock tower,
resounding chimes ring through my ear drums as I climb the attic ladder
dolls, and tent parts and old letters,
fading family photos and pre-school paintings, tucked in the corners, spilling into the doorway,
makes you look at the way
some things stay but they shouldn’t,
the way the past comes to haunt us
when we don’t dispose of the palpable,
as when memories stay in the foreground, the (rubbish) tip
can’t process them and reuse them somewhere more fruitful

We Are You, You Are We

let’s pick the stitches from our chests,
unthread the tightly packed sufferring
from our tired hearts,
it’s alright to unleash the pain,
spread your seeds,
i’ll spread mine
lets grow a shared garden,

i can hear that woodpecker chipping away
at your instincts
piece by piece
until your shadow no longer resembles you
a crammed cage of countless other people
screaming and crying
echoing through the empty corridors that lead to a dead-end,
lets put a stop to this suffocating madness,
grasp my out-reaching hand,
we can’t change the past but we can pave a different future,
let’s build in leaps
instead of ripping up crossed paths in backward steps

let it be your heartbeat,
all i can feel is the throbbing heartbeats of scattered souls
inside your chest,

fleeing souls from a bombing of the charlie Hedbo publishing house,
nous ne sommes pas paris
we are of the world
and we cannot contain the pain,

we are the soldiers blocking ISIS along the Turkish border,
we are the innocent Turkish history professor locked up and tortured by his own government for “security measures”

we are the fleeing children
screaming out of the rubble in Syria and Iran,
we are the lost brothers and sisters,
the distressed mothers and fathers,
we are the unborn babies the world will never meet,

we are the starving and poor citizens of North Korea,
neglected by their self-appointed God
who’s riding the waves of nepitism and priveledge
into a frightful self-interested dissent.

we are the acid-burned girl running from her villiage in Vietnam,
we are the American soldier who doesn’t know what he’s fighting for anymore,
the longing girlfriend trying to get a job,
and the coiled foetus that will be born into heedless tragedy,

we are the dead Syrian child washed up near Australian shores,
the displaced souls on Manus and Christmas islands
battered and bruised from hearing too many “no’s”
seeking respite in the darkness
away from power-fuelled guards,

we are the uneducated scapegoats
water tortured and treated like dogs in Gauntanamo Bay,
we are the mourning, fear-driven officers that dehumanised them,

we are the fearful,
the confused.
we are the constantly searching wanderers trying to find the unconscious truth,

we are all the missing and shot-down aeroplanes of 2014
just trying to find our way home.

Home is inside you

Stop giving a damn what people think of you,

keep on living,
thrive through the smog,
wipe your windshields
and throw away the rag,

you don’t need to be reminded of your
pre-dated self-hatred,
let it remain in the past
let it suffocate and dissipate in the corners of no return
as you roll past the punches
you throw at yourself,

better things are to come,
they have so far surpassed the bad,
so why are you so sure that the best has already transpired,
you can jump from that cloud,
(you’ve just got to allow yourself)
the ground isn’t as hard
as it looks from afar,

you’re near to finding
a place of your own,
a place to call home
inside your own mind

a place where
you’ll never feel alone,
or misguided
or out of place,
where any external circumstance
becomes
a garden you can water
with your inner thoughts

stay away from those
who make you feel unwanted
and unnecessary,
only you can validate
your own existence,
be free from attachment and expectation,

don’t let the rips in your wings hold you down
from fluttering through the wonderland in your mind,
you were torn apart simply to
make room for growth and
deeper nourishment,
to breathe and nestle amongst all the other wonderful worlds around you