Tuesday, 5 March 2013


Do you let the sun in?

What does it feel like, those rays
like water breaking across your face?

Or would you shut the sun away?
Lock it up inside a box, and
oil the hinges to keep it
from creaking with the heat?

We are on a life support system,
sucked on and sucking, hungry
for a sense of satisfaction:
unknotted, full up and happy.

The roads split the landscape
into segments of country, fields:
this one for corn, this one for
meat, this one, and this one...

But can you taste the earth?

Is it sweet? Or has the taste
been sterilised away, overcome?

We spin the world into a gown,
abstracted from oil traps
or sheared from skin of lambs
plucked from cotton buds.

Everything we are
is the world, what we
have taken is
now us.

Put up walls to keep
the sky out
to keep the wind 
from drumming;

or let the wind in

and feel the breeze,
becoming your senses.

Food is there to feed,
clothes are there to clothe,
medicine is there to
medicate, it seems;

only entertainment is not
a resource - aside from
playing cards. But art and
folly - they are free.

Would you weave a tarpaulin
to keep the rain out?

Or let the rain in,

and stand there soaking
in the rain belt?

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