Matter

It percolates this storm of matter wrapped in uncertainty
naked to the eye of seldom many, fathomed by the few
whose fists wrap tightly around their gut, this raw placenta of
misogyny delivered outside safe womb into this bitterly
cold earth that dies screaming.

Listen


We don’t remember names, only eyes that flash back synchronicity
it’s the flame it burns incessantly for survival in these short dark
gothic days, mouth to mouth synthetic inedible filling of void.
The pulse of liver drinks red vinegar - blood pumps froze detachment.
It is only the wind that keeps it alive - this wanting tug torturous.

Taste

We can not hear the seven deadly sins - it was inscribed in the book of life
this body just a vehicle transporting the soul, beauty will shine in the eyes
of those that will behold pure souls. How can we polish the blackness away
forever to remain invisible and cursed. Who deserves this purgatory of
waiting and waiting for not knowing why.

Inhale

This Tibetan incense promised non-toxic fumes and 31 purely natural herbal
ingredients prepared by hand according to an ancient system centuries old.
Its breathes through thin air; wishy washy odours stifle its power. Smoke rings
stir the dead spirits that lurk at tip of the threshold between these still waters,
this thin line between consciousness - we realise this being fully alive is torment.
When the scab breaks apart - we inhale the dense forest of emotion
roasted skin melted - return to dust.


Observe

Smell the roses - wear the sun tinted glasses of a fruitful goddess wonder why
we wander into her bite from luscious peach - when did all the juice vanish from
their eyes - as she moves gracefully before a time the sweetness was gone.
See letters and letters of I love I; guided by a milky way that lied through its
rotten molars while we obeyed every commanding sign. Why did it perish,
what moon has gathered us here - stars all matter. Is this existence?

Intimacy

We become infatuated with stimuli a slave to its deception, as its perception teaches
only pleasure vs. pain; this being human half beast afraid of conditioning taught to
banish the natural feral of I, wandering why their idea of civilisation is killing us softly,
swift and cruel till blood boils to pulp - an incessant playground of flesh eaten corpses
who can define this madness; this need to create space, while they eat and eat away
bombarding us with information/information. You may find us watching the static
weaving in and out seeking something beyond, hoping to be led towards a desolate
piece of humane interaction where touch sacred as nothing before. Its in these short
dark days we need it more.

Read more work from Maria Gornell.