Lost on the Twenty-First Century Mountain
Look into the moss, is it deep in
there /
ah vitamin green whizzing deep in
there.
I see you're moving like a skulker
on the deep -
the mud deep in your roving shoes;
we’re stuck up Gunung Salak, (the
silver mountain)
and there is no food or drink in
our Nothing-prepared-for-boycott-days.
Your legs have wobbled, they’ll
wobble again
before we return from our state
of anomie.
Take us, fatalistic gods of the fig
trees,
whip our bums with palm leaves
and send us down,
we’re in too deep.
But you, with your ideas that take
the mind off its rails
are whisking us to a place beyond
time. Is there daylight
beyond time / time beyond
lightday?
Oh fools we are, thinking we
can beckon what we shooed away -
the light has lost the trees and
we’re in too deep – teachers,
what shall we do now? What do we know, that we did not learn
one hundred years ago, rock?
We’ve become deviant seers out
here - we will die, anyway.
Scum! Boo! Silly Pooh! You think
you want us but
you called us mad. Empty? Ah, the leach, mad on my toe.
Let’s go back, before the light
fades – this mountain is unpredictable.
This is moving away from logic
but we just want Earth.
Our hands are the gates between structure
and chaos.
(Brains
search for cars on streets, elsewhere.
Shopping centre: light / holy
feeling on
escalator / rush of chemical fabric / sexist drugs in nose.)
We have run out of water and the
sun thinks it’s dark.
Damn it’s real on the twenty-first
century mountain
where we once had a dream – no, hold on – but we’re close to the end now.
Here, sleep is organic but
we cannot lie down. Not now.
The angels have flown on and the mud
is too deep.
