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father & son : s mcdermott : 14.02.03



r i p e n i n g

an epistle to frank walsh

by andrew lovatt

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we are rich ripened juice budding
on the sharp razored vine of life
hold the skin intact & keen our eye
blinking carefully & rhythmicly
burst not the bubble injudiciously
better target the ink blood squirt
dead center, heart of the issue

we are everything we eat
and eats us the moreso too
this intercourse of energies
life copulating & gobbling life
ouroboros glinting hi-tech teeth
pieces of flesh savoured roast
brains al flagrante hearts over easy
eyes and tongues and hands
scouring and devouring life
a cornucopia, a giant smargasbord
one price feeds all, an entrance fee

to be is not some cosmic accident
just punishment or any morality at all
just fact of isness is what it is
awareness waking to know that we exist
and had been slumbering in our theories
pet pragmatisms for-getting by
the ineffable made concrete
like marxist bean counting distribution
codified in jingo jango dogma
the better to calculate by number
piece and part and parcel

the soul slumbers and rumbles in its depths
spurting molten red through surface fissures
all that we experience is marking the creature
with hieroglyphs of forgotten intent
scarring the global being with isness
so strong is it and so tired the human psyche
such ancient mettle has gone from being
the molten redness incites passions so dark
we would avert our eyes if we had them open
and yet we eat and eat again, and are eaten

this fractured sense of multiple realities
informs our polytheistic unknowing view
to look without definition or dictionary
all forms of previous arrangement
structured knowing systems
fade in the image of a world blown apart
not alone on the desert deathground rattle
somehow inside and through us too
on the edge of seeing something
new and unfitting to all befores
is not a pretty sight
but beauteous so deep it churns the heart of being
our soul love soul breathing in and out of it
momentarily here and there aware
of some immeasureable squint
in the eyeing of itself


newbridge : 02.03.03