before the day

before the day 2

By night I long for vacuum,
yet gravity ties my bones and blood,
wires me to the world, an unbreakable nexus.
I’d prefer a lighter planet, uncored by an iron seed.

We think alike, adversaries and friends,
harmonies of disdain and love,
characters in chiaroscuro,
quotidian actors reading quadrophonic lines.

On my phone, intermedial worlds—
the amplitude of life compressed
to flatness; paths are lines,
join the dots and draw an empty shape.

In the natural world of night
our beds ascend through surfaces,
cornice moldings, bricked and tiled frames,
to float above the dullness.

Now and then I see my mind,
its flickering luminance,
emergent wings that quiver
without flight.

In the morning, particles with no
dimension, dust and pollen coats my lungs,
ashes of forgotten plans, highlights point by point
written in the margins of torn-out crumpled pages.

At times I think that it’s just me,
and you might think the same sometimes,
everyone thinks
it’s just themselves.

The earth’s iron core gives us a handy magnetic field—compasses, longitude and latitude, GPS for finding coffee shops. As an added bonus, it protects us from devastating radiation. 

artwork—before the day

25 thoughts on “before the day

    • Thanks Daniel. As you know, I feel that I don’t have much control, but I’ve realised that even though I advise others to write from the heart and not hold back, I don’t always do it myself. Like every writer I hope to improve, and I’m working on that…

    • it might just be that the absence of control is a manifestation of honesty, it may not be the heart but it is less encumbered by over analysis, which has its own merits. i look forward as ever to whatever transpires from your efforts. best of luck with your heart.

    • Thanks BG. Sometimes I think we can rise too high at night and see too much, and I wonder about knowing the truth. I remember a character in a Philip K Dick story who wanted to be a cactus in a desert for a 1000 years. Hey, but floating once in a while isn’t a bad thing :).

    • I think you might need the mind of a cactus too for that :). I’ve read PKD’s life story and some of it is pretty terrible, helps explain where he was coming from.

  1. I’m probably not paying attention:
    gravity pulls me toward
    all these things asunder
    wings, luminesces
    brilliant monarchs wings splendor
    dreams point toward
    upwards askance of life
    words of yours perchance, salvation

    • Headlights flash between the window bars,
      I hear her footsteps down the corridor,
      she unlocks the door
      but not the chains that bind me to the wall.

      She whispers in my ear, asks me what I know.
      Semi-conscious, semi-alive, wracked with hunger pangs,
      I try to concentrate.

      People will fly together with temporary wings, Qantas Flocks;
      in an apocalypse, fashion is mid-season;
      red giant stars are not embarrassed,
      they need UV protection.

      You’re a wombat now, but one day
      you’ll be our guru, save us all.
      A little more suffering should do the trick,

      and she leaves with the hamburger and chips.

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