posted on January 30, 2016 at 10:29 pm
ocelot with the lot

whole lotta ocelot 

another warm storm crackling with thunderbolt and flash

cheated of their minutes the hours all escape out into the rain

poor old heart skipping beats and black blood coagulates somewhere

the sap of a tree slowly smoking in the charcoal disc like moon

between shudders the old place emits its many spirits into the night

a damage done by cosmic rays peeling off the human veneer

a painting of life that never moves

the people come and go come and go

a sunken floor and cushions and some dressed up little monkey

endlessly repeating the syllable om the traffic distantly murmurs

summer summer summer summer

saturday night squashed into a series of ones and zeros

information being processed in the darkness of mind

long spooky seconds that suddenly snap or burst

a rapid lifetime compressed into gods one endless moment

in the tepid soft rain a whispering bird

`baby baby baby baby she seems to sing so tenderly

in the leaves outside this window the rustling feels in time

delicious breeze that comes running across the wavelets like a dancer

carrying news from oh so far away and long ago

oh and when the stars pop out i remember some music and a room i had forgotten

my father so young young young

hes all dressed up to go somewhere to go somewhere

i wonder if he sees the ghosts that all swarm around him

all during the war but now the wars like a dream to him

and europe awakens to a fragile pink dawn

and sydney sinks deeper and harder into its ever resilient night

the cheap blinds go click clack click clack in the lovely breezes

down by the motel seaside the palms and pines twist and gyrate

i embrace this coastal life like an addict taking everything he could find

a lagoon rippling in the shadow of the clouds and i’m crying all the time

theres a house being built down by the shore

being built but after fifty years still no one has moved in there

i imagine walking through its skeletal beams in the torchlight

through a mist my mother was calling me in for my dinner

but i was lingering with the other children

all afraid of missing out on a nocturne adventure

but that is not now and even i know that

now is quiet now is restful

now is stray droplets hitting the rusted bars

i am reminded of an under water orchestra playing fathoms down

so so far away

and the music they play summons back another humid story

the crescent of violins representing the present

the descent of the piano black notes stained slightly white

and the fog muted trumpet calling me faintly away










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