Cornucopia

Cornucopia

Complexity bores the masses;

the child souls who dress as adults -

So I relinquished lauryl wreaths

in haste of eating dull bread, salts

and sterilised honey. Supplant

the old ways of beauty divine

and nature supreme - they instil

in place of antiquity, newer

types of mundanity: thousand

upon hundred shades of off-white

that speak tedious monotony

fused with a false mask of authentic

clarity. Clean these walls of homes

all you like; it will never leave

your soul aseptic. Turn from brick

and mortar to the polished floor-

how long you spent with neighbour,

filling the time with resplendent

nothingness. Hiding in adits

beneath the window sill, waiting

for boredom to evaporate -

we sit in these sterile places,

and deny the life that gives this

consciousness breathing lauryl truth:

The tangling complexity

of looking at a loved one, all

knowing too well that hate ensues

in kindly battle- at washing

the dishes, hanging the laundry,

feeding the baby, murdering

the cockroaches, cooking the dinner,

calling the mother Medea,

crying at the cat whose friend died

by the wheel of ignorant drunks.

Knowing that the man who, lusting,

saw your sweet thighs in small denim,

continues philosophically,

oscillating between eyes, lips

ears - pretending to care for sake

of winning attention- heartfelt

attention. Not empathetic

embrace or protective smiling.

And yet, knowing all this, continue

-flirt- for he knows my Venus point.

Guising ourselves with closet veils

that hide complexity - those true

lascivious natures latent

within a virus dwelling heart.

Turn - and we meet morality -

Hiding with us in the adit.

The binary rights and wronging

of the other one that is just

ourselves in another form.

The ones that held a fleece of gold

just like a troubadour, knowing

we grab and grasp at shiny things

until our paws turn cold. Frozen,

bereft of hope - watch the gold mute,

the bronze tones of true purity.

Purity that scares us - that makes

our little feet scamper further

into and never out from dark

wanderings which minstrels mock.

Holding this pure fleece - we fall in

and out of our despair, running

from imbalance as if morality

had castrated the right and wrong

that impinge on doing some good.

So we fell through the veil - the veil -

(the liquid arsenic skin-like lick) -

and into Pleiadean skies.

The complexity of seven

stars - the brazen brilliance you would

have missed had you stayed in that old

Goblin grot with hobbling bat-rats.

Had you not touched the fluid gold-

spun round the spinning wheel of breath-

The bright stars that remain above

would dissipate into nothing.

So now we inhale the Kind dew

drops of the Universe’s sweet

memory. Fall into the lake:

Milk swimming in the light abyss

of consciousness- holding our mouth

in an unremembered topoi

of human recollections. You

and I dance with gravity- lift

and pull the stars which calcify

fabric of solar schematics.

The simplicity of holding

space in space is missed by adult

children who run in suits as sheep

run with a grass-ridden shepherd.

The complexity of Lauryl

wreaths- the beauty of standing in

folding entropy- falling through

the gravity of existence.

Relinquish malevolence- I

pray to a heathen planet lost

in the firmament – putrified

by time and space and flowers, fruit

and corn. a goat’s horn overflows:

the essence of lavender joy

permeating the festival

-thank you, for arriving here now-

With reams of violet streamers full

brimming to the edge of the town.

With food of cuttlefish and rare

beauty in smiling olive oil

grins belonging to the children.

Those young eyes that gleam gentle-

yet know too the ecstasy of

nothingness, pure divinity.

The lauryl wreaths spring light beside

the women dancing in rhythmic

glances to the camping band.

Those villains you had met have left

from fear of being burnt by sun

and knowing all too well they will

fail in any attempt to kill

your body and psyche and soul.

Held in the safety of replenished

Balm, so is the final push- Life.

Complexity - come bore into

my mind and fill my soul replete;

become my Cornucopia.