Oh! to be brave enough to open to all that I fear now; to everything I used to fear multiplied by experience and petrified through the ages of my dying days - my living to death. Oh! to open! now to all that once threatened to steal my innocence and succeeded, through my fear, in murdering more than my unguilt: my love lying offered-up on its cold- stoned heart, moving only when prodded hard & then only because I shudder. Dig! With half-hope & memory I stab at the corpse of my soul-self to feel inside my chest something other than cold & colder; desperate not to show that cowardly face with eyes closed to myself (in the mirror), to God reflected (in my eyes), to You revealing me (in yourself), to unreflected Life, dazzlingly (full!) Oh! to be brave enough to open my eyes. from 'My Planet', in I sleep, I dream
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Monochromatic Bright and shade lie grafted on the floor. The warm wood expands (to), the cold "And A-gain!" contracts. Opposites attract and stretch out their black and white arms towards the others "And UP!" showing bare arabesques and stocking-ed développés. Toes point at the dust continually disturbed and floating in the sunlit air: tiny burning flames dancing round the Lycra bodies of burning minds, shouting, and fire-fuelled muscles, obeying: "Bend!", "Build!" push-pulling "Hold!" stretch-lifting "Fold!" step-turning, spinning, slowing, "Control!"-harnessing every limb's ambition to fly and dancing! Dancing, dancing, Dancing! from ´'Nostalgia' in I sleep, I dream
And yet, he will not love me that much. He will not love me so much as he said. He will not keep his words to himself forever. He will not long for me so much longer. He will not miss me more now than before. Despite what he thinks (and says), He will not be much sadder. Already he loves me less. From Goodbye Songs & Thank-you Notes: Other Endings (or 'Learning to Loose'); written between 1993 and 1998
or 'Word Processor' from Its Inside-out & Orange I eat your words,
They go in through my ears, whole into my mind and drop heavily to the floor of my stomach not able to pass to my intestines. Unprocessed rock words roll & clatter with the flow of emotions & hours. moving & banging against each other, grinding down over a millennia of moments of churning and settling into the pit as fine sand to filter the water of our everyday lives together, flowing through me minutely. Some words take longer than others. from Its Inside-out & Orange: Singing songs in the sun A memory of growing up in SA Nothing but
a mineral mixture of metals and rock with the rot of leaves and flowers and the remains of the bodies others were dressed in. Playing in it as children we know nothing of its value. History sticks to our feet and stays under our fingernails and in our ears 'til we go home; Carrying it indoors, 'straight to the bathroom!' - burning ears pulled for better hearing - to wash it all away with hard water; Leaving pink- brushed fingers and toes to run to supper, clasp and curl together in 'Thanks' and kick each other under the table for worse sins committed against our brothers that day than Collecting dust. There are ways of becoming covered in dirt that are much worse than falling: like lying too still, too long, without breathing; or sitting too still, too long, not Saying what you must say and can't so that it sticks in your throat, suffocating you. There are worse ways to collect dust than racing and falling and rolling. singing for my heart (Sometimes) life
(dis-)appoints everything to it's time; (mis-)placing perfect dreams who-knows- where? I must (out)stretch my wings for flying & (bomb-)drop into the water of life; crash-)landing with my little load of imperfections exploding wide. - I (mostly badly) time the Big Ones and live my (mis-)taking just enough to survive the meaning: the (un?)lucky loser finds that being right isn't everything. taking a walk in SA, pre-1989 I have no idea what its like to be
You. I stumble, not falling forward; putting out my hands towards the dirty pavement and You, rushing fast along the heat-rising street in the opposite direction to the chanting masses singing their anger and my fear. You walk ahead of me; not knowing how I follow and thank you for being black and walking the same way I do. I mean...the same direction. (like me) You come:
blessing me, falling over me, running down, covering me. Slipping lower: me sitting, smiling, watching (you & me) growing older outside you inside-out washing-lover you. I lost him still saying loving was for keeping always and holding onto. I lost him still holding my breath with my hand over my heart, still dropping my (day-dream) ice cream in the sand and giggling still-born soapy bubbles into the wind. from 'Other endings' in Goodbye Songs & Thank-you Notes |
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