Fish Hoek by day

They sit around in the cold air and stare.

They are looking somewhere.

Somewhere far, somewhere near, anywhere, but here.

And empty tables of half cupped tea scatter around me.

Dirt clings to flowers so false sitting in jars so white I fright.

Dump sugar in tea and watch it dissolve, like the day filled with minutes and hours waiting for resolve.

And we feel it coming. Sudden, sharp, clear.

Fold up our collars and pull our jackets near.

It sweeps the streets clean with icy sheen, taking with it our memory, sprinkling it over sea.

We walk on.

'Body wrap on tap', 'cut-a-dash hairstyle mash', 'klein-jans biltong' and 'mary-jane's skanky thong'.

The walls close in as we witness winter begin.

muezzin lightning dust

hooters moan conducted 17 floors below, move along the street, flow to muezzin melodies side by side. beeps and bleeps pockets of space slice up time and remould new...and your in new york...the sounds chime through my ears vibrating my brain to stillness. everything seems to stop.fall off.as i lay me head down to listen. i heard it coming from miles away, it thumped on my ear like a drum. i was picked out of everyone, so i listened on.took me out of a passion unimagined, and sent me on a search. and if he hadnt made me so damn mad i coulda made it out all alone.now my hands are holding this, and they seem to be looking still, they touch so light they could still be missed, as they feel on the dust below. found something tangled in spells, her voice still echoes clear, veils of colour covering eyes, as the world perceived obscures.
how is new york? you touch, go, touch, go... so far but by the speed of sound we hear

Marcus Aurelius Meditations Book Three Idea Five

In your own actions let there be a willing promptitude, yet a regard for the common interest; due deliberation, yet no irresolution; and in your sentiments no pretentious over-refinement. avoid talkativeness, avoid officiousness. The god within you should preside over a being who is virile and mature, a statesman, a Roman, and a ruler; one who has held his ground, like a soldier waiting for the signal to retire from life's battlefield and ready to welcome his relief; a person whose credit need neither be sworn to by himself nor avouched by others. Therein is the secret of cheerfulness, of depending on no help from without and needing to crave from no man the boon of tranquility. We have to stand upright ourselves, no be set up.

i forgot the problem....thats the problem

dear alex

what do you make of the pain in my tummy? it burns up and pulls at its friends scattered around it. they get tugged tight. then lets go for just enough time for me to forget my worries. then when i least expect it i am caught off guard again in an unruly manner. when it grumbles i try to listen. and when i open my ear the world gets very loud. my body starts to talk all at the same time. i am told about the things i forgot to do, the things i promised to do, the things i have done, the things i aught to do. then the things that have been done to me. and they all talk at the same time. its too noisy. so i close my ear again and try to piece things together in separate draws of my mind to look at them individually. they lie there half formed and waiting to be filled. all of them. so i construct the rest up to the best of my ability. sometimes they dont look quite correct - but i see a new shape emerging and let that take its place in the world. sometimes they become more interesting than the rest and i spend months marveling at their new form. sometimes the broken pieces lie there and stare at me expectantly - empty and reflective like a broken mirror, awaiting their missing pieces. sometimes i solve a few and they fade to the light. most times though, when im not sure what to do, a little bit of dark chocolate seems to help smother those sounds...its quite nice...

too much too soon will ruin it all
without foundations you will fall
grapes take over my day in a fastest way
boiled water to wash away the pay
but what of the day
as it glides through mind recompiled
transparent images floating through air
being caught and put gently in my ear
while you drive your car out on the street
to places where you will meet
i catch my ideals and lace tinkles
smooth them out like old lady wrinkles
you drive the street to a place to meet
look away and let grow a place we wish to sow
try not run a mile
to turn outside an inside smile

cyclic redundancy

dangle grey carrot
day's end reprieve
saddle me up
peace of mind redeem

ass of the laborious
glue foot hooves seen
industrial surrounds
buzz computer glow screen

touch click mouse copy
inhumane paste cut
pixel square eye sore
words images sordid

life life schedule
hurry up to wait
watch blue line render
disposable art tape

knives

If only you were a butter knife – id be happy to let you smooth me out
Or one of those old quaint antiques ones, with ships of silver sailing on the thin blade.
Even a butterfly knife flutters off the tongue better
It can twirl in a hand and flap around striking me with awe at its lightning flit.
Fancy little red and white Swiss army knives
They smell of musty dirt adventures and hummus on Turkish bread in parks in berlin
Many days I watched as my brother cut air borne apples in half with his fong kong kitana
And history tales tell of long nights of a thousand knives slicing new paths to revolt against systems above
Cutting sleeves off Tshirts on hot days, trimming fringes when no scissors are about, cutting the rim off apple crumble pie…
But this one – this flip knife – cold – hard – used
nothing of pleasantries stirred up
an emptying exchange of divides
My philanthropy snatched turned rancid and
Your brash haste ingrained your disdain