Wednesday, 23 January 2013

Boat II - Re-Imagined

When I move, the world moves
with me.
I am in its hands; it's neither left, nor right
nor up, nor down, nor back or front
It moves like a face that smiles
on water
Grotesque suddenly beautiful
suddenly distant to almost
I am January.
Only a heady disc of stars spin
flinging vague truths into the thick black fur of night
I am a truth within it all.

What terrible vast fleshy secret
has revealed itself in me this Winter?
My hands look dead with cold when bare.
The world is my eyes that sit on me
and the stool legs dig into frosted Earth for answers, for secrets
And we wait. Or we wait.
Then we wait.
Like rotting wood on a beautiful boat on a frozen lake.

These blue maps course around me
  like strangling roots.
I am collapse, growth, percussive fire lighters
 deep in my eyes to yours to the world.
The Earth grumbles
Oscillating between metaphor
and actual.
My closest friend is farthest away
Sending messages in snowflakes
Clinking cold crystals that catch my eye
I spin yarns with them, make chutney dreams,
knit together stories for imagined futures
for the Present's sleigh ride.

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