Ornamental

Don’t let your pain
Be a neat party trick

Hands a golden serpent
Neverending spirals tunnelling
Sparking new butterflies
Rapaciously absorbing them

I’ve been one myself
In the beginning, a loss of sensation
Dropping one’s baggage
Sparing from mass a balloon

The self doesn’t need the tip of my nose

Intensity and taste of blood
Till a surging craving for it awakens
Committing to full power and force
Then the realisation:
A billion little pieces

One larger
One smaller

On my knees, my body unstable
Yet finding energies to stand
To search in the darkness ahead
From darkness to mist

Images

What’s a jet engine doing here?
Cycles, spirals and flows
The eternal serpent without a head,
Without a tail, only a source
Of essences and itself

I try to give butterflies, give light
Yet there’s no giving to perform
They are butterflies themselves
Fluttering as the serpent slithers
We are all streaming, and
I am not to give, but to join

Weaving my hands through thin air
Not to perform, but to seek
Visuals are but a language
Developing tools to explore the mist
To probe it and talk

That’s not through a portal
Not through roads or lights
From waving hands
Images

Kindly vivid, kind as my giving intentions allow
An unspatialised spatial connection
Unmappable
For it’s not the golden snakes
For it’s us

Desensitise
Glowing spell, transitioning light
Filtering through
Fog of steely petals
Ironwork gates
To a mechanical heaven

Somewhere, nowhere again
Of all our little brokenness
The human desire to repair
Make things better
For our future mirrored past
For the dust of my broken bones
To settle on safe familiar books
A home has to be built first