movements of being

"Colours blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavours numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.
The Master observes the world
but trusts his inner vision.
He allows things to come and go.
His heart is open as the sky."

- Laozi (老子) [Tao Te Ching]


i love my father’s taunting fists to stripped, naked breast.
i love my dad.
i love my mother for tolerating eleven years of this.
i love my mum.
i love memories of camping in backyards, to avoid.
i love the images of strangulation, cricket stump no longer a toy.
i love the scratch of the record player, we hear sex pistols one more time.
i love the ocean, the sea, the swell, the salted moments of treasure.
i love drowning and being alone.
i love the fear of leaving home, my big blue pig, strange landscapes unknown.
i love years of being called a fagot for being shy,
then a teenager thinking that i should be wishing suicide.
i love those many conversations with you, and all of you as well.
i love pretending that one day there’ll be equality,
that one day we’ll wake before we fell.
i love that first time i saw you at the rally.
i love fantasizing about you, on top of me.
i love the corner of your eye, your body.
i love your smile and your conscious self.
i love the constant analyzing.
i love our mental health.
i love the screaming in the car, the slamming of breaks.
i love laying crying every second day.
i love our unborn child.
i love your insecurities.
i love never knowing where we’re at.
i love brief moments of relief.
i love the passion, the pain and the grief.
i love missing you.
i love being thankful when we detach.
i love you not being here.
i love you.
i love loosing you.
i love loosing you.
i love loosing you.
i love my terminal sentimental nostalgia.
i love having no one else to tell but myself.
i love this poem.
i love the words thrown onto keys on a mobile phone.
i love sitting here, again alone.
i love the emptiness, the desolation, the debasing of my humanity.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love knowing that accepting is being is loving is.

for free love

to live and repeat

seconds, minutes, hours waste
as cancers, arthritis, depression grow
nostalgia in an empty room in absent space
the mind wanders to
intimate conversation, relation, penetration
reminded that
i am alone in the familiar of
my own being and loss and note
that there is a pattern here of course
only a handful let in close
from boredom and fear and an unrepentant urge to fuck
it is hardly scandalous
so please don't humour me with dogma
or hate campaigns designed to alienate
they only cause reason to sober
watch porn and masturbate
for here i declare to you that
we love and love is free
that no matter your persuasion
an orgy on the street is ecstasy
to be in Paris in May '68
to paint the walls with excretion
erotic dancing in London 1908
to exist for a moment outside
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was gained from living
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was given and taken
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was gained from living
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
this is an empty shell to be broken