Mooncats

(A Collaboration with the cosmically colossal Nara15blog

The depths of space.
Cold and frozen like a liar’s tongue.
Decorated with imagination, and the Christmas lights of the Milky Way.
Like kings we travel across mountains, the time valleys and the soundless desert to offer the myrrh of our hearts.
Watching the world from up high above.
Metallic buckling and inclination set us down.
Dropped onto that dusty surface.
That sunken dark side of the moon.

A whirl and snap, a titter and tap.
The astral music of our future calls out across the dunes.
Feeling our subtle energies, ameliorate with the salt intake.
To deflect the dark interference, a vast endless shriek

In the indigo star mist they barely exist, through cells of the unknown.
A flight of fancy tickling their whiskers, as the mooncats rise, out of klexy carbonize ebony.
A night call that sounds all hours of the day, as the sun passes them by.
How their lives abide, stretched and multiplied by the gravity of circumstance.
They ceaselessly divagate in the nebulous noon-shine quest.
Tunnelling in the honeycomb of a starry satellite.

Beware the fringes of the universe and the edges of the rock.
For lunar moths will dance on their nose, and call them out to space.
A grave of diamond dust to mark where they had been.
Eclipse our minds with astral sulphur, and sing us to sleep with the haunting Egyptian sounds of the gods.
Bastet tiptoeing in your ear, while the mooncats purr.

My earth gives way

Crawled from the cobwebs of a translucent dream.
Stretched out across the fingers of the gods.
Held down and wrapped by you, suffocated in love.
You’re in the air as I breathe.
The god particle that explodes within.
A bigger bang than the galaxy around us has ever witnessed.
The seismic shift of you.
Burrowing deep into these lava bones.

Little red lie

Do you want to go higher?
Watch the burning battlements from up above?
Smile down upon those shores that glisten like the tears of Rama.
You tried to pull the world in, hold it close and deep within.
A monster holding onto a butterfly.
Lost in its tantric world of escape.
To call yourself God’s equal, left an oily taste in your mouth.
A sulphur of sorrow that seeped into your gums.
You closed your eyes and looked away when the pain came.
When those fortresses fell.
The day Atlantis crawled back into the sea.
Cross your fingers and tell them tales.
Scratch their backs with the fingers of fortune.
A deer in the headlights.
A lemming on the edge of the cliff.
Idolaters and wishful hearts all joined in the chorus and ring.
Sending songs up to Satan, asking him to pray.
Grounded the bibles into powder to pepper the young’s milk.
Forgetting they already suckle at your sanctomized teat.

Tears of the Gods

His heart, now the colour of his wife. Broke apart.
The urn smashed, scattering them both across the clouds.
As the volcanoes rumbled and the gods groaned.
Down they both came in the rains.
Licked up by the wood spirits and the humans below.
Pooling in the heart of the world, flecks of life;
and the cast down tears from Olympus.

Lap of the Gods

His brow, wet from the rain, cast skyward.
A heart yearning for explanation and soothing.
His climb monumental, each step a weight of a world.
The spirits plucked his heartstrings like a lyre.
Coursing a music in his soul.
The mountains surrounded him, closed in like monsters teeth.
A wife held close still.
Tiny grey fragments on his skin, parted only by an urn and disbelief.
Soldiering on, he watched Apollo bury the light for another day.
Darkening his journey and settling into his bones.
Light air and fables coiled around him as he reached the summit.
The fates had been wrong, he was to die on the ascent.
Strangled in the thin air and half-hearted inclination.
Here’s mud in their eyes he thought as he looked beyond the clouds.
A flickering light, and eye to mystery.
Shimmering into view like many untold stories spat from a fire.
The great mount, the seat of all and the divine rose into view.
His heart melted into honey as the sight expanded in his eyes.
Before it turned to stone, unable to stand the wonders before him;
knowing the climb had just been steps towards the sacred.
Tiptoes on the precipice at the edge of the world.

Matter/shatter

If we’re talking
about hope.
These simple things should matter.
We are matter.
We are blood.
We are all wet underneath.
Which skin matters?
This one cuts. This life shatters.
03.47; call my name.
Blur and hum.
You see it in my eyes.
I’m not ashamed,
to say.
That all the Gods drip down the same.
And enter our purple veins.
Which one is better?
We are all
fragile.
Please handle with care.
And stare,
and care.
For their heart is on your hand.
Precious matter.
Jehovah or Allah.
Peace be upon us.

Down within

Down to the water’s edge.
Beneath the willow and the sadness.
He stopped his world for a while.
No hand to pull him back.
Only invisible fingers pushing him forward.
Reeling in his mind like spinning wheels.
He lay on the cold bank.
Shedding his tears into deeper pools.
Pouring out his misery and loneliness.
Until he drowned the flying fish.
An ice crept across the water.
Licking his bones and sealing his eyes tight.
His heart caught between a beat and a break.
Hurrying this ice-age that would sweep the world away.
Yet he does not dwell unobtainably with the gods.
Or at the end of a book to placed on the shelf.
His small pool of sorrow lies within.
Every time the change of seasons ring.
Each day your body sways and splits..
He aches once more for the shore.

The Salvation forest

This is what keeps me alive.
You drying on my skin.
Lobsters of the deep, snap memories for us to share.
For me to fish for.
Your tongue, a mind of its own.
I hope you don’t mind, that I describe you in such words.
But this is what I need. The photosynthesis of love from sadness.
Breathing deep in me, swelling my soul.
Your Picasso honey, sweet blues of strung moments to fix.
A thorn in my side and iron lung around my heart.
Feeling you on my fingertips, presenting such possibilities.
I have to kiss you.
Crawl into the space of your mind where the heart and head battle like warring gods.
Climbing mount Olympus, wax sticking, fear splitting into sweet tangible delight.
Strong roots that burst up toward the sky, like ghosts escaping a tomb.
Strange fruit that I hunger for, my teeth to bite into.
Finding your heart at the centre, I will kiss into recovery.
Restoring your pulse and transfusing our strength into something eternal.
Breathe.