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CANTICA
WITNESSing

EXISTENCE

Nomad

20/2/2010

 
A wanderer in the binary system
is what I've become
entangled connections breathe on,
then off again.
 
I saw this same light once
radiating from a desert
I insisted on visiting:
I had thought it had a centre.
 
I wish I could recount
that my grandfather told me
to be prepared
as every generation deserves a war.
 
Now I trail my saddle bag
eyes bright with fever
yellow paper skin
my heart a fist of sandstone.

White

18/2/2010

 
Life is colder but lengthens
every time we travel west.

With a little water, I swallow a cup of salt:
the sea never freezes.

The machine needs me inside
to keep it warm with meaning

but the start of this day
is a teardop across the window.

As if to embrace a circular saw
we now head straight into the sun.

And I hope I can stay numb
before its teeth sink into the metal.

Fiberglass

17/2/2010

 
Sitting here with you
as the waves kiss the shore
and cannot wash away
these fine yet biting grains.
We struggle not to believe
that a child born in a transit lounge
of a secondary charter airport
has no right to live.

Silently, ever so quietly
and stubbornly, we persist.
Our retina shows the trauma
But the air's perfect!

Smell the sea:
freedom is concentration
liberation is in discipline,
the habit of happiness.

Perfection is a curve, a nautilus shell
and love a pair of boots;
living is that hill in the distance;
and the world all this lies in,

you.

Wasted

2/2/2010

 
Wasted is nothing
the flowers, the food in the smallest of tubs
are not lost on me
I note the orderly sequence
of books on the shelves, the effortless beauty, the pace of our days
my rhythm, my song

I have come to desire the rainbow of scents
symphony, scenery, towels, the fruit in the bowl
the meaning of home


Wasted am I, in this choir of care
this backdrop of meaningful beats of your heart.
I know I'm the sock on the carpet

useless my workings, my musings projecting such plans
that get just that close...
and then somehow are gone

Hopeless I feel, and I know this horizon
was thought for a more worthy subject than me.
One more word, if I may:

I shall learn to dance - across this floor, and high on the roof.
I see this will happen - no, not a dream - I just know
and when I am able and fun again

I'd love to take you with me.

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