unhelmeted

unhelmeted

                                                                               With her mind
                                                   I dreamed the blue sky
                                           through an empty visor.
                        And without disguise
                                        I saw the shining face of childhood
                        and my tiny self,
                               framed,
              down the end of a gun-barrel ...
or was it an oval frame
        on a forgotten mantelpiece?
                        yes, I think it was ...
and I saw a child, older now, staring
           out of a fading family album,
with crazy blue-green eyes,
                       looking like she wanted to kill someone.
          And even after that,
                        I discovered an anonymous girl, on drugs,
               a wild bush-teenager slapping ripolin onto some old
scraps
                        of masonite,
             her gun hovering
      like a ghost ...

           I think she died,
or went to sleep,
     perhaps, on a small pale pillow of hope
       set against a back-drop of despair ...
          but there's a burnt sienna head floating,
                                  somewhere,
                  in pools of jacaranda blue,
visible only to those who read,
     across and through
and around ...
in the spaces where
   paint can merge
with thoughts
    and words
and something else ...
         but she's there, still
as a Nolan Shakespeare
sonnet
      or some other
                         utterly brilliant
                      verbal
                       sludge
                      that sings, sometimes
                                                  after dark.

one hundred degrees celsius 
 Boiling beneath a calm exterior is an anger
                             that simultaneously provokes 
                                                   and is provoked by 
                                          an immobilising lethargy.
        I have known this corrosive interplay for years.
             The invaders perfuse every part of my being,
                                                           seemingly uninvited,
                                                settling both inside and out,
                                                                      like thick black fog, 
                                                                                     suffocating 
                                                                                and full of lead.

                                                    It has a visage, 
                               that taunts me,
    a hated, hateful face.
Rather than running like crazy, though,
                                                          I stay, 
                                                hating and liking 
                                                             the torpor,
                                                            and the rage,
                                                        loathing and loving,
                                                                     at the same time ...
                                                                                unable 
                                                                                      and/or 
                                                                             unwilling to flee.
                                                                        But, now,
                                                                        right now,
                                                                        this very moment,
                                                                        I want to kill it dead,
                                                        and watch the blood seep out of its temples,
                                                                        signifying victory.
                   And I'll see its demise today, and tomorrow, and the next day.
                                   But it will never live to torture me again. Never.
                                        And above and below me 
                             and around about my being,
    stretching out as far as I can imagine
                              will be blue sky
                     with streamers
                that wave 
       in triumph
  towards 
infinity.