My mind dances with others;
flirting like a teenager
around their brain.

All I’ve done, crumbles
like a daylight ending cataclysm,
racing through darkening woods,
misty and vacant. To be
everything that hides behind
the curtains. To be
nothing but glitter on hair,
sparkling and broken.
I am. be.
nowhere.
free

like slaves. Again,
moral progress, I entertain;
the parts that constitute the brain.
Like language, ambiguity not in essence,
but expression. What is it, Kant? I can’t,
I can’t…understand you through any mention.
For all it is, bears no pretension, indiscrete
like lavender pollen; smelt
and sweet.

In my hours of ego-less desire
I still tangle round reminiscence
and dread. All my teething thoughts
scatter like Ash, collecting creatures,
wandering through digital landscapes.
I am nowhere obvious, in-between
the mud and electrical cables,
as I spin round an atom
imploding and splitting.

Nervous butterflies
emerging from a chrysalis
of chrysanthemum wings of doves.
Flying towards burgeoning horizons
fluttering erudite on solar winds
lost amongst deranged proximities
bounded by blackened skies
Escaping realisation
subterranean rainbows flicker in prismic identities
diverging depleting
diminishing deconstruction into distinctive dominions
waning light that merges into surroundings
(bound together by the unfortunicity of birth)
[aren't all?]
Falling since conception
“all things are a part
all things are apart”
Loud
crimson daylight
excess is the prerogative of the crystalline
...
time
distances
people
such a petty quality

one feels more distance
by degrees
the closer the surroundings.
(and when I say dancing, I mean jumping through galaxies)
[oh good, I am better at the latter]
(it's like tumbling,)
[was all there ever was]

[a can? Or a cylindrical box of tin?]
…
…
…
[but I digress.]
(My my my
Don't touch the apple pie)
[if you do I will cry
antelope bones down a chalkboard.]
(what?)
[Screaming “sirens, sirens
Sleeping alarm bells
show me madness,
I am cluttered”]
there are no gods
only pillars of marshmallow
transforming, caressing
endlessly

-oliver and jonte

Meaning
f
a
l
l
I
n
g
like sparrows in silent wind
like leaves in seasonal flux
again and again….
into the violent dirt
inflamed mud

where we pity the worms
and their empires of clay and mortar

a pomegranate a jewelled pagoda
moving and centralised
cyclic and stagnant.

Everywhere, I do not see
directed untowards
magnetic poles.
Agni-metic people.

The sparrows song
in underwater caverns
startles ripened ears
(wrinkled, warn, and walled)
between dogmatic slumbers…

ertras, I can hear you
»»»»» —————————————-»  [you]
where?
f’-> : {inside euclidean halls}

meaning, falling
passageways toward
nothing. [frameworks]

-oliver and jonte

First, a lonesome rider comes gently
murmuring in the dark,
riding a white stallion into a bang.
Second, the sweet chaos of quarks…
play fighting like children                                              
on a trampoline.
Third, the life and the love
of unthinking minds, and of molecules meandering
  along our DNA, adapting.

Then the sensing things
      find their place; crafting geology,
   time and taste, into a land of empty waste.
All impressions teeming, ideas wild, dressed
   in sterile suits, this is the reaping
upon the fearing eyes.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,                          
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I ask you, one who knows them all
   who walks like Jesus, bathed and masked
into the cave where upon we ask
Who is the fairest of them all?

And in these moments of ferocity,
bright like burning Pohutakawa trees,
     I cower beneath the fury of the sky.
In the timeless and fragile imagination,
I ponder teething things, creeping                                  
   and making their way to Matilda’s
earthly paradise. Take me now;
oh raise me, spirited Fig,
to enlightenment.

Though in my awakenings, whilst light
               finds entry to the eyes
        through a liquid sand,
    I wish all the treasures of the lands
  ka whawhai tonu ma¬tu,
ake ake, ake!
   I wish to find a nightingale                                                  
    with its blood drenched upon a rose,
    staining my withering suit,
  as I pass from fascination
into gentle death.

They say studies show
the reason for reflections
of Christmas lights on windows -
It’s the particles, they say,
that shoot like rocket ships
through the air,
bounce off surfaces
then grip
and reveal their tricks.

We have not yet travelled past Mars
but we have grown wide
and far between
each other, on acid trips
with life long friends
we laugh at the stars
and in book clubs at 4th and Alma
nestled in a quiet apartment lofts
discussing the sacrifice of Éponine,
we too are caught in revolutions.

But it still seems
the pop songs are the saddest songs
to sing on Karaoke nights in city bars,
where a million lights refracting inside
my heart swell and surround
the drunk glistening eyes around me
swaying to and fro
to “She loves you
yeah yeah yeah”

In these times of indecision,
we are thrown into delicate plans
and intricate decisions
about the cracked peppers
in kitchens alongside
peppermint flavoured chocolates,
and I wonder,

though you are stabbed in the neck
with stories of existential writers,
I hope you come out of it all,
with an air of desperation,
or an inclination towards revolution.

Then again, I do not see this
red orange feather dancing
through the sun strokes between the trees
for no purpose other than the momentary
grasp towards these possibilities

So I now imagine,
is it here again in no time
to doubt these transparencies?
Would it see through this
chaotic night without prejudice?

though still tamely, timid feathers dance with flowers
and nowhere is nothing so calm ,
elusive, -

Near the surrounding sea
I lie in the sand; somewhere
else beside the drag
of the water waves.

I see no kingdom here;
no fantasy of mowed grass gardens,
small brick fences with oiled gates
and tightly trimmed bushes of Rhododendrons.

I see no impressions here,
to the subjects cosmic eyes,
of perfectly ordered existence

overflowing like
carefully layered, plucked and picked
lavender petals pouring
over the cliff garden.

I see twisting things overhead
and the tangling of the light
through the air to the forest floor

Oh hallowed moon that follows the Earth;
your plight is not unknown;  I swear
by the fire of Hades breath
and the pull of the heart to the heart
take me, take me now…

I am alone in the sand
turning to glass.