from Hail Gazers

‘I know, I know
that through me it will go:
sadness which shakes not
a flower, lifts
not a shadow in pain’

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

whenever I live in or visit a city
eventually I find myself wandering
between car park floors, buildings
with tight curves, low roofs, smooth
concrete light, thinking of burials,
and sex, and the organisations,
with grand names, convincing us,
the Us to blame, of over populating,
so that burials are performed standing up,
the casket lowered feet-first.

the narrow roofs and open elongation
in central city parking stations
capture the metropolitan odours
of food and fuel, and dumpsters,
and perfume I love so much; a mix
combined, the light feels layered
like book pages, the feathery rice paper
of tomes, and I’m oftener barefoot,
thinking and picturing the bones

surviving the coffins; the monsoons
of rumour, easily forgot,
of why the round Uppers
go directly in the Crop;
and the floods, floating bodies back
—half composed letters
to Death; and Cell phones,
surviving the clothing of the cadavers,
are things I use to laugh about existence

as a ‘Me’, tethered to his shadow,
pinned, at first, the threads
of memory, stitched into his flesh.

I have a carrot, a ear-size dried Otago
apricot, four Californian Date, two
tablespoons of seeds—enough to live
a day on without the body eating muscle.


3 thoughts on “from Hail Gazers

  1. Hello Peter. The ‘quote’ is from one of my poems, a meditation on dying: ‘I know, I know that/ through me it will go/ sadness which shakes not/ a flower, shifts not a petal/ in harm…’ slightly misquoted here as introduction to another round of Death thoughts— from the child experiencing grandparent and pet burials, to the near extinction levels as concluded by the work of Graham Hancock in his study of ancient archeology.


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