You Are Here

Ten thousand cups of coffee black,
much numbing wine at day’s bleed out,
so many meals have passed my lips
sweetened by love
or bitter pill,
and just as many words have spilled
their perfumed drops or
caustic tears.

The slip and slide of kisses deep,
the lullaby of near heartbeat,
the bruising hand indifferent,
the knotted scar grudge left behind
have all been mine somewhere in time.

So too the heart did oft contract,
when terror knocked with red right hand,
and grace of peace was given me
abstruse, unearned, yet given free.
Such moments made of sweet or sour
have lead  me to this here and  now.

Funereal breath of flowers dead
forgotten on the mantelpiece,
two lazy flies buzz slowly by
and I am caught in my mind’s eye.
I feel again the cradle rock,
the cool embrace of water’s touch
that etched a salt tattoo on me,
a lacy talcum filigree.
The sea crocheted a frilly hem
black Cockies slashed a ragged seam
into a bone white heat blanched sky,
and I am stitched with every scene
forever forged  by what I’ve seen.

Forever forged by where I’ve been
each moment past has lead me to
this zero point of here and now,
the place to be or not to be,
that pregnant void where things to come
exist as everything and none.

Author Notes

Cockies-Cockatoos

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Never have a Nervous Breakdown.

I have been rough handled,
jack boots upon my heart
pulverising that bloody meat
into unpalatable
pulp.

Wounded already
spilling onto the sidewalk,
into cracks
and crevices,
disappearing
down
the
drainpipe,
why  couldn’t
you  have just
fed me back
to myself instead
of spreading me
like a stain?

cupped precious juices
in your palms?

I was slipping away
and you were
looking the
other way.

I have been manhandled,
blunt instruments have
gavelled my mind
into numb submission,
chemical incarceration
constrained all cogency

bleary, weary, teary,
without sanctuary,
trapped inside
a tourretic
stutter,
a mental maze
that ended at
the beginning
and began
at the
ending

Hell.

Why didn’t you
hear me
hold  me
see me
love me?

Instead,
you
rescued
me
with the stink
of  sanctimony
on your
breath,
strings
like sticky
webs
tethered
your
gifts
to my
ankle

I drag them still.

A vision quest
at Spirits behest,
the long dark night
of the soul
stretched before me
and I was afraid.
You could have held my hand
instead of telling me
to get my
act together.

preaching,
teaching,
finger waggers

blind fumbling fools
absent of all understanding,

I am a sovereign being
I am sacred

I am not pathology, morphology, psychology, mythology, physiognomy,

(you should have kept your wacky phrenology to yourself)

not barmy
not broken
not fucked up
not fixable

not yours.

Dedicated to all the ‘helpers’. Thanks so much.