I wish I could picture
one soulscape without you
but your absence is blinding
like a brutal sun.
I find myself beached:
a little grain of sand
once inside you vast.
without you everyone is mere
mirage that is nothing
but resemblances of you.
I used to rise underneath you
as a ripe tide breathing
in and out of shore.
now I am but a potential
dawn never seeing light;
a boat never touching ground;
a broken wave crushed.
without you
I am nothing.
if I could write something pure
i wouldn’t be able using words.
the alphabet is already infected
with knowledge and with life.
i would simply scribble markings
with my nails in your back
and only you would know the meaning.
my pencil went pulling
at every dark thread
your mother wove you with
i showed you
a broken being stitched
with markings in lead
you begged me
to rub you out; create a
shiny blank sheet of clear
but I left you there
sitting sad and still
wrapped in scratches
I was five when I witnessed a bullet wrestling a cow.
I held onto daddy’s leg and wondered why the beast was drunk.
She stumbled first then dove into a shallow pool of earth.
She bled into my father’s glass that night.
As a youngster I panicked as our bullterriers locked their garden-fence-jaws in a brawl.
Daddy broke it up with buckets of cold water, dripping red off their bodies.
I thought I was going to loose a pet every time.
The sound of their beastly rage still lingered at night.
Once daddy flushed a dead moth down the toilet.
I cried so hard I couldn’t stop.
He laughed and held me tight and told me it went to heaven.
I was so confused and wondered if heaven was a place full of piss, shit and puke.
As I grew up I saw the return of hunting trips.
The paralyzed trophies at the back of the bakkies lied staring at me with marble eyes.
Something about the buck appeared alive until biltong.
I spiced the rows of meat with my bare hands; helped hang the flesh in the garage.
As a young woman I arrived one day and found my cat on the stoep.
I realized late that she was dead.
Someone put her broken body by my door.
As I cried in the bedroom my boyfriend threw her in the garbage truck.
Now I’m all grown up and I witness slaughters everyday whilst grazing my breakfast.
Headlines and life tells me we fight like animals all the time.
I keep wondering if heaven is here on earth, amongst the shit.
Pieces of earth die every minute but we give her no proper burial.
I wish daddy was here.
we return to the place
where she fondles
another man’s life..
places sweat on his brow
flesh and tar holes
dug
beneath his soul
looking for alternatives
where she can
lay
this sexy talk
on somebody.
love twists..
he expected
less hurt,
a lyric.
not the effortless
pain
of a new dripping
sun
the formless calm
of compromise
history of motives
wet blood in the romantic’s
bulb
misconceived beauty
inept tenderness
I feel like someone’s infected spit. Drip on me please, I beg you , just melt. For me. Or wave over me like some voice you hear when you see that blinding light, centred like a clit in the night. Right in the middle of the highway carpet ride towards the lightning where we all get shocked out of our wits because we finally woke up to the breakfasts of champions who never were. Should I go back to where I started or should I shed memory like skin, down the disgusting pipelines of the psych? Or should I go back to spit? Spit on a clit. Spit raining on me, raining so hard I cannot bear the arousal. What is so fucking amazing about feeling human? Taking a shit, puking vodka ,licking last night’s sperm ,still stuck in toothbrush routines and hourly engagements such as burning yourself with a kettle twice, and feeling. Oh fuck…feeling. If poetry and art could be perceived mechanically the sense we would make from it would be an abortion. So I just listen to Rammstein and drown in sound. It´s so dark I can’t even see what I’m writing. Some Sci-fi horror on TV again. I just feel like licking my wounds until there is no hope for them. Maybe that alien can come and spit that acid on me. Hope just dresses you up for a party where no one shows up. You sit in the corner like some little man tate without the brain. Just feeling, feeling you up, feeling you down, feeling you until you wish for permanent anaesthetic until the day you die and start living and go to makro. Big bulk is heaven. Security is god. Guilt are just chains that keep you shopping for pain in big bulk and search for that item in every rack that makes you wake up at 3 am and feel so awfully alive. Flash lights are so awfully overrated it’s like a hand of a person that doesn’t exist. Ease up, lighten up, torch up, explode into a circle of light on someone else. Spot light on. Relationships are the only rational way to realize there´s other people around. I fucking love you. Life. You stink. You drip. Again on me. Sperm and fat and blood and crusts and cholesterol and nicotine. I really do love you. I love you like that last bit of wine in my glass. I hang on to you like I hang on to that wine, threatening to leave. That red is like the red of life lost. That is where the secret of life lies: in the colour of menstrual booze.
we went to war together
fought with and against each other
now all we have left is each other’s wounds
to dress
with love
Always morphing to her movement.
Her scent sweeps past me like some tormenting little breeze.
I am so fucking suicidal for her.
Mother of all: my reason without meaning.
If she keeps on gripping me, how am I going to jump?
She always walks in as if she owns the place.
Street hips sweet lipped piece of soft.
The minute I saw her that first time I knew: I would jump the balcony for her.
Right into a sea of vodka, swallowing me like a shot.
Earth opens her lips and breaks up another party.
These bleeding sunrises hits me like a mary every time.
Here comes the sun, here comes the shadows.
All of them pinned down by their casters.
As she pins me.
Gravity has many loyal pathetica, clinging like desperate dates.
I don’t live in her shadow: I am so tragically that.
the back room
still aching
still sad
still secretive
still silent
still shadowed
still
at the back
dive into the kagablog!
