Through and Through

How his soul ached for the high pitched screeches
of dolphins and whales,
and the effulgent tones of acsendent masters

In the archeology of his pschye
memories fossilize only to crack and wither
at the strain of loss - an all consuming sadness -
how wretched he would become in the face of truth
kicking at the mud in night time caverns
where sleep skulks as some scaley beast

With the battle lines drawn
no sooner said
the first shot thrusts deep its messenger of lead,
tis no-more but flesh and bone torn and cracked at the head

And we sat up there amidst a thatch of hills,
in the pale solemnity of an expanding moon,
warmed by a fire in the company of reptillian auras

And we sat silent in this sanctuary of old fat trees,
the last of a dying breed fallen to the executioners axe!
my arms, my axe, our fears, our loss!

And we sat comforting each others pain
longing for that which is beyond desire
in a slow dance of familier forms
our hands through and through
touching, pressing, touching, pressing...
At first light the Bay bore witness to
ancient guards of the surf who,
like mastedons, stalked the beach with their cauldron-like bellies,
their judgements, their guilt
in their quickening will come the passing
of their carnival of horrors,
and none-to-soon.
And out across Neptune's garden
where great bears once danced with cossacks to gypsey songs,
the hopes of a nation spawned from those of Bulba's sword
and Tolstoy's pen,
are systematically crushed
and blood will surely soak once more this hard loved land.

And from this Bay beyond the hills south from here
one man's personal tragedy brings home the horror
of a society that can and must and does
distinguish between what it considers to be a 'safe' or 'unsafe' gun
and on and on we must endure
those fucked up values shat from a diseased bum!

And from this Bay,
from this very point,
from the very heart of I and you
through and through
we go on touching, pressing, touching, pressing
touching, pressing, touching, pressing...