Strangers In The Forest

 

It was a Saturday afternoon and my mother wanted me back home before sunset. This was an unspoken agreement, never once broken by any one of us. The dozens of paths inbetween trees were not yet overturned with darkness, so it meant that I could make it back in perfect time. The heat dried everything up but my eyes, which were tiredly squinting at the water beside me and brought my mind to replenishing concentration. I decided to carry on, and as my attention to the stream was interupted by the bone-like snapping of branches beneath my feet, I decided I had better get on quickly. Treading along the bank, I headed downstream for deeper water. Fallen trees bridged the width of the river and stretched perfectly across to both sides. I still lacked the courage to wander across them. I was simply broad shouldered and lean. There was too much of me to be acrobatic. The sheer length of me would smash into the side of the earth if I were to jump. My worldly troubles not conquered by tumbling contortion, my inhibitions never to be as small and flexible as me.

The day still felt young however the water reflected less light into my eyes and the deep greens of the forest started to darken and glow in their shadows. Each step I took happened to disturb the natural frenzy of things below my feet and I became agitated at the uncomfortable rhythm I was walking at. Along the edge, wet rocks of all sizes were scattered allow the bank and walking across them made my bones slant in their joints awkwardly. I growled as it maintained its slippery joke on me all along the riverside while beads of cold sweat rolled in twos down like dice.  I could see that it all came to a basin-like end in which the right hand corner became a deeper pool of water. It seemed that my journey had come to a satisfying end. The rest of the river ran down on the left, through a skinny avenue of earth which allowed the steady draining on the rest of the stream.

The air was thinning like worn ribbons that had snagged at the threads. Each gasp I took wore the forest out. The flash of the sun was changing colours and cut through trees in fades that changed their directions. Each possible direction of my excitement. Whole chunks of the sky ran through the wide gaps between branches and punched dying light between the arms of the large oaks and birches. The settling of the sun made the horizon of the forest more visible. The exposure to the things along the belly and legs of the forest increased within both eyes. The details of forest twinkled in unison before a square, wooden structure which housed an intimate creche-like decking appeared ahead and knocked itself into my focus. Natures perfect course had been discovered again and made a spectacle by human hands. I marvelled first at the good workmanship and then the deep water that bled out through a tiny slit in its side and off elsewhere. It worked perfectly, no shrinking or flooding despite the mossy bottleneck that designed it. A perfect flow which if altered could compromise anything. I chuckled as I understood why someone would want to build both something and nothing here. Just a place for a place.

I couldn’t see the bottom of the river. There were no sharp looking rocks underneath, no frayed green hairs stuck in between rocks to reveal its invisible outline like a ghoulish fluorescent mist.  My hand reached out and groped the smooth bar that ran all along four equally long horizontal beams. Dark grey and silky skin smooth, the secret dock was perfect in its craft and made with materials titles that were not missed by the forests. Grazed with all the joy I could hold, I crouched my left limbs inward and attempted to board the lock. The back of my arm rubbed underneath the beams which were just neck height, and finally, I slid into the craddle like a baby joey hoping into its mothers pouch. I threw my weight into the centre, giving both my curious eyes a front seat view. The volume of the water could be felt as the surface shined like a thick black jelly with no end to its influence on everything. I felt sick with excitement as I stared down into the origin of all great things, but was puzzled when my sight focused and I simply saw my sweaty, round face. A watery reflection. For some reason I was disappointed to see myself. My legs bent down and crossed after I thought about face and how it ruined this place. A calmness skipped along the river surface and sat with me as I stroked the rough planks beneath me. Not belonging and free to reign like the forest dust, I settled on the river for some time, took my shoes off and embraced the balance that came.

 

 

The first night of summer 

A mockingbird was singing boldly in the break of the summer evening while a large water rat scurried beneath the warm wooden braces of the house. A small child can be heard singing and murmuring.

“What do you say?!” The young girl’s shadow is dancing devilishly in the hallway light. “Sing with me Leanor!” She bounds from one room to the other, her small chubby legs slamming her shiny shoes into the ground, slapping. The hallway besides the dinning room was a cluster of children, toys and random bits of clothing. There was a small tan-coloured doll with three strands of hair, a yoyo and a ball the faint brazed colour of salmon pink. In a crumple beside the entrance of what was probably a bedroom lay a thick burgundy children’s dress, fixed with velvet red bows. From the wreckage of child memorabilia sprung Katherine, a child of 3 and a half years of age with the curiosity of an explorer. She wore only a small white under dress that seemed especially handmade. It brought light to the dinning room when the life of her came running in, to the much overstated delight of her parents.

Behind her sledged a less emphatic extension of the family, yours truly. I must conceal the fact that I am very tired or else they will know I went well beyond the woods again. It’s been a whole year after all. I drag my feet a few final steps through the narrow corridor before shooting myself with a sharp fix of reclaimed discontent. It does the job and before I even sit down, I am able to look unshaped by the comfortable commonness of it all. As per usual, father is late to the table on account of his project and mother is darting around the kitchen like a bloodhound. Katherine is somewhere under the table no doubt, with dirty feet that mother will surely complain about. Right now it is just me and the stunning vitality of the bright vegetables before me. The light dangling above casts but little shadows on the bulging skins of green peppers, while the summer humidity doesn’t shrink a single leaf. My daydreams are broken by my fathers carpenter walk.

His legs stomp into the ground with absent rhythm as if to stumble on account of full blown numbness. The blood in his legs migrates to the creative proportions of his brain, he would tell me, as if he was almost afraid of sounding too epic. This he claims is no laughing matter and it is the cursed price of the creator; to become a paraplegic, reliant on the structure of the project totally. He extends his legs more as he reaches the table before stretching once leg more than the other while in his chair like an old, rusty grasshopper.

“This chair feels uneven Mardia” My mother doesn’t change her routine. The room feels good enough to be in now, and I’ve noticed a spring in my mothers step. She serves the large amounts of meat and corn from a single massive pot. The saffron delicately mixed in looks like small slithers of gold and my eyes can barely contain my stomachs hunger. I wait for everybody to be served and consume all that is on my plate guiltily. My mother scorns me from across the table while I notice my dad has scoffed his food down too.

She pats her face in her lips in a very alien manner and proceeds to clear the table once everyone is finished. Without remarking on my mothers strange behaviour, he begins a conversation about something he is working on, another gift for somebody in town. I stare back at the plate which harbours only a few vegetables now. There is a simple courgette and tomato looking seemingly suspicious together. Their plum darkness containing not enough contrast, their rich flavours making my belly ache furiously. My mother and father, it seems, have descended into an argument. I grab messy Katherine from the chair and proceed to take her to the bathroom down the hall. The bathroom is messy from when I had initially been in there, I roll my eyes over the complete lack of care about my forbidden ventures. This is how mother must feel, I thought.

I fill the bath with the warm water that my father had so carefully boiled before working on his contraption. His level of care always seemed spider-web like to me. Somewhere in his mind it was obvious that we were always there on a rotating pedestal, we might circle back out of sight but it only means we are coming right back to the forefront of his schematics. Switching the lens of his eye to ‘family friendly’.

I carry Katherine into the bath and place her in slowly. Her arms become weightless under the weight of the water and I quickly sit her up. She looks into my eyes with the general content that a child has. The bold stare that is neither in want or need, just pure belief, freezes me. She almost looks lifeless when the water surrounds her. I stare out the window to the darkening opening to the woods with the general fear a child doesn’t have. I know that every time I go back, the forest becomes less of a hiding place as each night follows, slowly breeding itself into it’s own ambivalence. It festers slowly like a sleepless jungle.

 

 

A trip to town 

My shoes crush into the crumbling roads and give me the urge to run along ahead of my father and sister straight into town. I can’t hardly wait to reach the shops, I hear there is a new machine of wonderment, something me and my father had spoken about over breakfast. I have scuffed the bottom face of my shoes now but that doesn’t really matter. I can still see the noble shine on the front, the polished gleam of all things perfect. Even if there was but a spec of dirt there, the magnificent willingness of my eyes could remove any impurity and discard of it. I can smell the stomach-tickling sweetness of the bakery and without a ghost of a doubt, I bound through the groups of people to reach my favourite trio of shops.

There it was, the apple pie that brought me out of bed this morning and kept me forgetting about the woods. It shines so greenly despite only the golden crusts flashing their soft skins at me. Its shoulder is crispy and old, but its holy body, becoming ever fairer as it thins downward.

“The apple of my eye”, my dad remarks despite knowing that saying this hadn’t even had the same effect since I’ve become of age, since I had been revealed my truth. He places his hands warmly around my shoulder despite it being a hot day, and we both stood staring through the glass like people admiring past love ones in haunted mirrors. In the reflection, people can be seen hurrying by as, almost to avoid sharing the same eye space in both real life and in the ever fixed structure of glass. But what they don’t know is both can and will be shattered.

The owner of the store comes out to greet us in a dark green stripped apron and a funny hat. He stares my father directly in the face out of respect, my father showing his by making a point of normalising the situation. We all stumble into the shop like three little insects running from very large predators, asif we knew that the likes of them couldn’t fit through the thin dimensions of the door my father had shaved for Greggory. It was another one of dads woodworks that he’d made to somehow protect us all. There wasn’t a moments silence when we passed through the threshold of safety and so I do the respectable thing and try to engage in adult conversation without so much as a word of input. An art form my mother would always call it.

“There’s more pressure now you see, I can’t even deal with the amount of food orders” Greggory scraped his thumbnail across the wooden desktop which balances plenty of cake tins and stands. Another one of my dad’s humble makes, another breadcrumb he had placed ahead of him to earn him passage through town without harassment.

“You don’t look too pressed here now though” They both share a glorious laugh that made the prettiness of the shop seem super delicate amongst loud and happy men, accompanied not by the shrewd and coldness of women, but of the wholesome nature of anyone but.

“I know you don’t think you should attend these things but I really believe it would be good for your family. Especially for Mardia, she only goes out late at night at you know how people speak ill of your family already.”

My fathers patience reserved for anything other than work receded back so far, I could sense the frantic thoughts in his mind as he realised he had just become vulnerable. He grabbed the prepackaged apple pie in a white paper bag, and gave Greggory a brief but friendly look. We quickly leave the white, femininely decorated shop and I stare at the apple pie behind the glass. It shrinks and shrinks as I am pulled away.  It ceases to exist when I stop looking at it.

My attention is now focused on the large group we had passed earlier, circling what I could only guess was some sort of grand unveiling. The invention, I had just realised, was still yet to be seen. My fathers hand gripped the bag tighter around its neck, as if it was a bit of game he had just shot. His usually reserved stance took an animated re-positioning and the old rusty grasshopper suddenly seemed to grow bigger into something like a butterfly. I stared at his back and wondered if, with these eyes, I might be able to turn him into an Angel and fly him towards the front. No wings seem to grow but his growing excitement surely did. His faded green shirt is all I can really see as he wanted to check whether the invention was okay for young people. Before he could ask, a man stripped free a large white cage from a thick dark red cloth. Inside the cage was a small rabbit, just as I had foretold. These marvellous eyes and the honestly inside, I smiled. Before my father or the audience had a single chance to even admire the trap, the short and very hairy man pulled a rusty lever. The cage closed in on itsef like an infinite venus fly trap, devouring itself over and over. The cage’s structure seemed to shrink and shrink and clink and clink before expelling what was simply a screwed up ball of fleshy blood. The hairy man shouting “THE AMAZING CRITER COMPACTER – TRAP ANYTHING 50CM TALL OR LESS AND NEVERMIND THE MESS”

My fathers lean jaw hung open and his eyes had no movement beneath his thin framed spectacles. Other people were talking amongst themselves, huffing and gasping. Me and my father being visibly different from the settlers looked at the bunny ball and seemed to share alot in common with it. Our habitat taken and sold up as a treasure, and our demise sold as nothing more than a doomed trinket. We remain caged in a nightmare here in Tejas. We wandered home. My shoes felt very worn in and my mind kept thinking about the Church and how we didn’t go there as we usually do. Maybe my dad is growing aware of my strengths, I must visit the forest immediately.

 

 

Money in the house

Katherine and I decide to pick apples for mother as she claims that the apple pie we picked up is purposefully being baked badly now. Her paranoia about the new towns people extends to what she calls her woman’s intuition. She says that when I am a woman, I will soon come to learn what this is. Using Katherine to grab the apples, I tell her to hold her arms out as far as she can with open palms. Her hands do so and I watch how her wrist bends like the tree she picks it from. Her skin is not rough like the matted barks of this tree, but is similar to the reddish brown belly of others, strong and alive. I wonder, if like an apple, could she survive a fall and still encourage happiness? I drop her and she cries.

My father, who’s standing besides the house with a large project with his favourite set of tools, throws them aside in one motion. He pushes me out of the way and holds Katherine as she is hurt.

“I can heal him father, I can bring her back to health.” His eyes are buzzing side to side in a puzzle. He looks asif he wants to speak but doesn’t. He seems to inspect each eye as if to be searching for either magical truth or demented illusion. I notice that mother has not heard Katherine screaming however I had almost not noticed it myself. It’s funny how you might almost never forget a sound but never ever hear it again. I go indoors expecting a swift telling off by my mother and a brush with the Bible, but she is not here again. There is nothing on the vegetable bowl in the middle, that is how I know. I look around the quaint room I am in, and remember I am needed elsewhere.

“Is that when you go to the forest the second time?” the officer writing down everything I say watches me pensively as I relay the events he has asked me to recall.

“No” I tell him. I could wall right out of this room if I wanted.

“I had been going every day for a year, but my routine is exactly the same…” I continued. I would really have breakfast, lunch and dinner at the same time. Mother always quiet, Father always late and myself…always there when needed.” The officer swallows deeply into his throat.

“And your schedule when going to town?”

“Yes, that is the easiest. We go to the bakery to say hello to Greggory, before we go to the centre to see if anything spectacular is on. And then we go to Church…usually”

The officer tapped his fingers on the side of the table just like my dad would do after he finished a job. He called it ‘setting the slab’.

“Why don’t you go anymore Leanor?” My head started to spin. The muted sound of my mum shouting started to fill the empty holding room.

“The argument meant I couldn’t.”

He held back his pen like he was controlling a vicious snake right by the throat. I leaned in asif I was trying to draw memories from a well of all my deep reflections.

“The night after a dropped Katherine, mother came home. She was her usual self, carried in a basket of vegetable and a cloak for outside. Although she recently looks less guilty. Her and father got into an argument, and there I watch him slap her around the face. She went to her room and cried so I just put Katherine to bed myself, she’s hard to put to bed.”

“Was it then your father asked you to go to the Chapel?” His brow was sweating now and it was confusing me. Why did this man want to know about this? Nobody else does.

I inhaled faintly. “No, that was the following night. He grabbed me on my way to my room and said “My little girl, there are others I could send. But you are the one I have chosen. You must go see what is happening. Go quickly.” And I did. I was floating like a little angel of the night, sent by the Virgin Mary herself. My heart was adamant that I was unveil my mother for her tricks, however I found none. I walked past the vegetable stall and the door swung open. The priest saw me in the dark of the night. His old white skin was injected with so much holy light. For once, the man smiled at me and he told me that I would be of great importance to him if I claimed my mothers sins for her.”

“Continue…please.” His eyes, which previously hadn’t paid much attention to mine were saturated with so much focus, he seemed blind. This was the way that my mother sought to be seen by the men, this is how she said she put money in the house.

“He looked at me just like you looked at me, except he showed me how to see. I remember feeling eyes on me, like that little bunny at the show. I remember what the unveiling felt like.. I must go.”

“Wait goddamit!” I glide past the door and sprint down through the front door and into the street. I can hear a small crowd of the people calling out for me but I could not stop. Why did he want to know about Katherine? Does he even know where my Dad is? I have to get back to the forest. My arms are moving faster than my legs, winding my closer to what I must desperately reach. I am by the house now, I see my mother. She has been forgiven so now she may see. ‘

 

 

Two little streams

 

I walked along the natual path between the trees and traced the path straight to the start of the river. My mother, cold faced and wide eyed in the darkness was clinging onto my hand.

“You must tell me where your father is. He won’t speak to me. He doesn’t understand that I protect all of us.”

“I know mother, you try and relieve your sins, just like I do.”

We both cross over the bendy branches to go to downstream. As we walk, her face glistens like white sands in the moonlight. Her hair, which was thick and clear black, hung in a heavy plait behind her head. Her eyes were nothing like my fathers but moved in the same way, always rolling over the same hills and staring at the same clouds. Their life before me was in a hot distant place, however without the forest, I doubt I would want to be here at all. Realising I hadn’t spoken for a few minutes, I showed her the tiny weak stream on one side and the large reserve of water on the other side.

“You see mother, one is a river of sins and the other is not. One is forgiven and the other is not. Everything is either the pie in the bag or the pie on the stand. The rabbit or the cage. You or Dad. Dead or alive.” Her eyes, which were usually concealed by sad almond like sockets that hid from daylight, opened. I looked into her eyes and saw magnificent eyes just as the Priest had seen in me. I guided her under the wooden banister onto the decking, and she shrieked.

“KATHERINE!! LEANOR WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” She scooped her up quickly like an eagle. Her eyes were bulging from her head. I couldn’t breathe. I walked away from her and looked at her.

“What is that Leanor?” Her eyes were fixated on the bundle behind me.

I too scooped up what was infront of me. It’s face was even smaller than I had remembered, it had been so long.

“It is mine and yours’ forgiveness. I went by the Priest that time you argued with Father, and you have been fine ever since. Dad is gone and this girl is here now…”

My mother threw up into the stream beside us in a fit of violent crying. I could only compare it to screaming I had all that time ago. I couldn’t do anything but watch her sickness pour from one stream to the other. I felt a noble presence in the air.

“You…I…What have I done…Where is….Leanor..Why?” Her voice trailed off into an emotional swell of questioning, not audible to anyone. It sounded like the chattering of the town people, random bursts of loud sounds and hisses. Her eyes continued to sob until she finally gripped Katherine to her, who was crying again.

“You must leave this thing, okay? It is dead. Come with me now and find your father please.” I walk back from her. She is not dead, I laugh.

“She is just not loud like your Katherine. You didn’t even notice. You sat in your room for a year, while I carried your burden and now you want me to relinquish it into these streams?”

Her eyes flashed red. “Did your father help you with all of this…” Her tone was that of a wounded wolf with nothing to lose.

Her frail body turned as if to walk away. I lunged forward and pushed Katherine into the water.

Her body bobbed under the water over and over like a duck, not sure what it was doing. It reminded me of everything. Neither here nor there until it is. I looked at my baby’s face and saw nothing, no life given by Katherine. I turn to find my mother has struck me in the head, hard.

 

Local News

LOCAL PRIEST AND TEJANO FAMILY FOUND DEAD ACCROSS TOWN

Following the events of an interview conducted by Sheriff Halsely following a missing persons report, a list of homicides occurred within 12 hours of another and involved the premeditated slaughter of the much loved Texan Priest Joseph Howard. The link between the murders is unknown but the body of a mother and three minors were found in the Jasmine Forest just outside the town centre earlier today at the end of a stream. The Priest and the father of these minors were found inside the Priest’s bed, whereby his new bed was fitted with a contraption device then caused both people to be impaled in a metal prison that gradually shrunk. Sources that knew of the family said the father was a practising carpenter and a social outcast. Police are investigating any possible motives here as the local towns people are mortified.

The wife who filed the missing persons report for her husband is considered to be involved in the events, however police were suspicious of the 13 year old minor who ran away from a police office when questioned. Any people affiliated to the anyone in the family is expected to step forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Come Near The Island So I Can See You Please

To wake up alone

Beside your tired body

As it rolls and it circles

The spasms and the throbbing

Your eyes are closed like diamond mines

Reserved from nobody’s knowing except mine

To tickle every muscle asleep

Without a squeak or rustle or creek

Inclined, for it is impossible to know how the fish sleep and where they go when so…

I trace your lips, soft and living

I stroke your head down from the beginning

I place protective hands onto your chest

I really must protest to the fact that I went to sleep, begrudging

Like river mud slugging onto foreign banks

I bleed into an island of my own judging

While you pass by, a sleeping fish

I’ve plucked you from the sea of sleep to give you a kiss

For it’s hard to know just how a fish sleeps, and where they end up flowing…

You’re awake now

I couldn’t let the current build

The islands yield welcomes not a spirit revealed

My spears in hand, I scratch in hard to make you feel

Your diamond eyes, stiff-open like metal wield

I know I’ve caught you

But what happens now

Should I put you back into bed,

Are you sleeping now?

Fish dancing next to me on the beach

You’re short of breathe like me, but what is shallow to me

Be to you – steep

I lay down with you

And roll back into the ocean

The other birds are cackling and rife with emotion

Sleepy fish, were you already dead?

Was the motion of the sea what brought my clever claws to your head

As you rock around in your spot, I can’t help but seem to notice

Is it the sky or the sea that will boat us?

What basket of similarities keep you afloat and also a moat around land that I can so happily live and around it float

You see, I bloat and you blow bubbles above sand

And when they pop, I cause you some trouble

Because I can see your reflection doubled

I see your soul leaving the sea, as you dream

I see you as vulnerably as one sees the sea.

R.M.C.

Image: Gabrielle Hope

Seagull and Fish Skeleton, Waiheke Island

Honey Nut

In crunchy snow we met

The time was dripping wet, all the happy

And all the sad

In the city iron clad

Melted that night when we held fucked and for hours on hours we held hands

I cannot forget

We screwed into eachother like a bolt in an door

Whoever was wooden really needed the other more

But a metal exit to anyone would feel just as sore

When the spirit of loneliness had finally decided to thaw

But our love boils like soup

And in thickness and in health

Reduces eternal lust from an overexcited gloop

It was warm in our laps like honey bears given some sap

This isn’t honey, said the bear while the bee turned off the tap

He’s the bear, I’m the bee

I’m no busier than he

But since him I have been reaching his Great heights among the trees

My nest was always bothered

While instability, uncombed, had hovered

Above a world that had caused me to lose my legs and grow wings, the bear was smothered

His face masked with sweetness but he was never full

And me, a nectar magnet

The reason for it all

Perfectly matched

Like the sea and the sand

I’ll say it again, but the waves are his hands

When they part in curvy bumps

They’re like a sturdy knuckle

I’m the sand holding you together, glad to be your perfect belt buckle

I’ll hold you up, like you’ve propped me up

Entertainer

Circus dancer

Except the audience is only full of me

Your romancer

I’ll go where you’ll go

I’ll watch over you when you sleep

I’ll sting anyone that hurts you

Even though it could mean the end of me.

The Tunnel

I am crawling through a tunnel with a ceiling

Thinner than skin

Why don’t you just burst through

Says the zombie citizen

He says the skin is ample

Like a fat lady’s ankle

Fatty on the outside

And swollen like ageing apples

Peeled away, another day

Like skin from skin

We’ll separate

Skin grows anew

I’m not for you

The old skin dies

The old skin dries…

Smoky kiss and stroked on wrists

Is it windy in the tunnel

Asked scientists

I look ahead

The skin still dead

Isn’t flying away

It remains today

Still boxed in

Skin so thin

Tunnel so narrow

Fear sits in

This tunnel goes on forever

Says the hipster in bright sweater

Moody micro aggression

Sexual frustration

Better

Emotional recession

Legs bent, crawling through

Fun for her

Hell for you

Heaven for me

Tunnels are free

Are dug themselves

For escape, mostly

This tunnel is too small

Says the wide, benighted fool

Whom it wasn’t designed for it at all

The woman who crawled through this tunnel would have surely died

Said the man waiting on the other side.

International Women’s Day

What would it be like

To recognise the joys of womanhood

Understand the destiny imposed

By the treasured male Y chromosome

You see, sex is not your brain

Your brain is a brain in itself

An organ that operates over the seconds, minutes and hours

And summons preordained and ancient powers

These powers are:

The ability to stare at yourself in the mirror without touching your hair

Losing a care for the millions of women who sit on bloody chairs, lacking the support needed to push

Push those boobs together

Push the baby is coming

Push the door open yourself, don’t be weak

But don’t push the political agenda of the week

This day of women, tomorrow be the worldwide day of window cleaner

One would wonder which is meaner

Not learning your mind for its truths?

The female brain has empathy but considered aloof

But to know the understanding of the human lies the truth

Not the systematic structures that desperate humans afford one another like endless brutes

Endless brutes we shall birth if we do not educate ourselves on the nature

Of men and women in their nurture of one another’s major

Men build… and so women understand?

Try and build a sandcastle without considering that the sand

Will not harden if washed over by the sea in its wicked wave that goes back and forth

A system of counting perhaps 1,2,3

But on the fourth

A young boy will assemble the tool

The young girl is speaking to a dead fish

A castle without a school

Where will the eggs learn not to die

A straight couple laugh as they stroll by

A sandcastle is a soggy, empty palace

Where will the averages of us go to cement the pillars of averages

Berry foragers and spear throwers in colleges

Thinking education will set them free

But will we really know why the castle falls down on 1,2 and then 3

Will we learn these differences? Or try and adopt the best behaviour?

Why are conversational men and business minded women our saviours?

Can’t it be that the fruitful difference, that recognises that we are all but a see-saw

Keeping the earth balanced and fun

Now you have noticed that one is high while the other is up ..well…none

Other than that building of stable projection

Since a man can encourage another mans erection

What will women do?!

This is to you, the women that don’t bother

To think about what their minds could do

Can’t you see,

The whole world is asking of you to deliver what was delivered to you

Your mother and father created the means to carry on

One of either can be plucked from the universes simple morse code song

We don’t just exist in the mere state of balance

The super sold myths that secrete the chasm

Explore the new truth in your being

Away from glittery productions and glittery being

Being a woman makes you

A beautiful alien that was sold as a green thing with large eyes just for seeing

But those eyes were the dimensions of future civilisation

After wars and accumulation had decidedly eroded whole nations

This is no mans world,

But a women’s future

As the hand that rocks the cradle rules the earth

As the myth of evolutionary domination becomes all the more looser.

R.M.C

Over Dramatic

———–

Self medication

And the ability to draw out the damnation

That writhes through every weak joint

In the brain that rattled every bad thought

Through the angry drain

It shakes and shakes until the lumps become small

Until they’re unnoticeable

And fly though blood like hormones

When a whore moans is she telling the truth

That the attachments in her youth and early adulthood

Are sworn to detachment misunderstood

Her empty soul a feather lost

In the windy streets

That carry her through life

An empty beat of conquests that put her mind to rest

Elsewhere she cannot sleep

Like a Mammal that lives off the heat of others

Home is too cold to make a map of other lands

When the heart of those she loves is like pressing her feet into hot sands

Rage is hot

But perhaps not

Rage is freezing, prickly touch

It must be held by wooden men

Who when warmed can’t be bent

But burned, she likes to burn

Her brain is the inside of a fridge

Where everything inside her dies

When the rage brings the temperature down a tinge

The fringe in her brain drives her insane

When the rage comes and flushes her down the drain again

To her lowest hole

She comes out and smiles at the eyes

That always meet her on the other side

The only ‘give and take’ where she’s the prize

She over spends on everything and is the boss until

The money is gone and stuck at her windowsill

Her mother can’t take the constant debt

And the debt in their dynamic is in minus until they’re both dead

A sibling with much to say

Who never saw the thermostat break

In her older sister heart when the

‘Shit went down’

But shit still goes down, is always down now

1 minor thing makes a minus still

One minute I am sky high the next I am paying for my thrill

I wonder if I can overcome another melt down ill

I wonder if my body and my mind can pay the always looming bill

I am spiralling out now

With a jury of family that see every row

As a bid for attention, a wet towel

On their sofa, an unwashed plate

‘She’s fine as when she’s paid, she’s off to see her mates’

‘We sit here at home while you party and we are alone’

My manic highs throw me out like a comet approaching their skies

When I hit home

Less money and more they need loan

They claim I invented the throne

They claim I wished to be vulnerable

Lifeless and a clone

I was once a student, I once had dreams

Before a stranger broke my seems

And drove me away from the uniform success that I cannot remember or even believe

I moved back home, I moved out the house

I attempted again but was full of hate

I loved my drugs and my altered state

I left the country, I became Clean Me

And came back here to them, to She

Work fucked me dry, threw me into the sky

Underpaid or not paid

Debt rise

Rage climbs

I argue every week…get called weak

As my rage lashes out almost every time I speak

They say I play victim every single time

They say I struggle to stay in line

With their plans and their lives

Perhaps I do

But where is mine?

I used to be so much, I used to have a clue

But now all I’m reduced to is a pathetic family view

That is altered by their own experience

Of me as a wretched person

Throwing tantrums and cursing

I am becoming bad again, I am telling myself my “sad story”

When I do that I know it’s because I’m trying to make sense

I wish I would just disappear but it would only be at their expense.

R.M.C

Little Fly

The start of a poem

The destination of the wild

The origin of a myth

I’m afraid I’m just a child

We actually came to be

Hot summer in the winter

Weighing down thin petals

Giant stems bending like backs and splinter

Silver glances

Cutting through like radiation

Two lights dancing

Translucent smile

Golden grip

Perfect sensation and locked hips

Numb fingertips

I will mention the intoxicating effect

Of each of his eyes

As they rested so perfectly in a world

So clad with mirrors reflecting

While his soul strikes lighting

And is trapped in the tunnels of mine

He must be made of something different

He must be someone different

Attempts to forget his face

Are as relentless as trying to conceal tears when drunk

Vodka veins and ankle sprains as you try to escape the truth that swirl in his eyes like serum

Each one shimmers with an unfamiliar delirium

That seems like the reason for most things, life is all but inferior

Closer now to the space around his chest

Where souls go to rest when there is no rest

A beating heart is received by him and cured

Like despair is curved by liquor

He swirls any resentment

And so you thirst for truths about his birth

Where did he come from?

Why is he here?

Why has he met me, of all the unfamiliar people I know?

Familiar with myself it can only mean one thing

A bare, cold feelings sneaks up my legs before I sleep,

A chill that is so deep

But never deeper than his gaze when truly meant

This man is not a rendering of a blessing from heaven sent

He is not here to save anyone

He is here to watch it all, like anyone would do if they were to fall

Here in my lap he sits and tells me ‘sorry’

His voice never trembles when he tells me not to worry

I can’t help but study the god-like nature, improvisation in body like jazz

But I clearly see the ego that resides in the glossy eyes he has

They’re cold sometimes, alone

And without bone, they cannot walk away and find others just like his

He’ll roll another cigarette and sit exactly where he is

Not quiet nor silent,

A mind flying over oceans, powered by motions

Not emotions,

It’s impossible to know whether he’s an island or an ocean

It’s impossible to know where his brain truly lives

And because of this, possession is his only truest sin

I tread carefully

I breathe carelessly to seem mentally

And emotionally…physically present

But my brain is very much watching over us

Like a very annoying fly

That circles in sweaty rooms instead of going alone outside

Freedom is his belt, and holds

Like a closed bud holds a bee

If I open these petals up will, something die

While I’m being stung?

Will I cry?

Selfish, he would say, admire the beauty… he would suggest

While the fly above me realises that his flower can never be her nest.

R.M.C

PCOS – PESSIMIST CONJURING OSTRACISED SORCERESSES

History lessons on the good, the bad and the wicked

Did you know no witch can birth a witch

It’s why they’re deeply stricken

Probably,

Who knows the crux of somebodies bad luck to have a mind delivered from the rind of damned relics and juju hinds

What fabric are we granted in our genesis?

May it be the cloth of the Saint or the jealous menaces who realise that most ladders are the spines of others

And there’s nothing more eager than a barren mother

Self critique? more like life’s general mystique

What would my life be if I were the flower and the tree, not the idle eye

Synthesising and romantic wising

Each and every summer sky and

Every sad song clinging to the sound of my absent ache

Like a lovers lustful residue or an inherited bloody mistake

How much of life is there to admire

When the boom and bust is as newly ancient as ‘woman on pyre’ – I say natures umpire

Witches who conjure myths but are in themselves myth

A guitar is some wood and string before strummed hence the ‘rift’

Human body splayed

Pain played again…and again

Dragons drawn to be slain

By the man

And his divine hand

Why in his morose toast

Victory call and the hand of the beast decorates hall

The monster wasn’t man after all

But man is monster and always rules

They have multiple arsenals of hidden atomic jewels

Shoot up schools

And trick all the general fools into

Believing beauty is only power to the cruel

Which isn’t true at all

The retro lense is considered a cleanse of

The HUMAN nature of the now

Picking the last batch of daisies on the fields on the playground

Watching your friends birth fleshy lumps that came from supersonic baby bumps

This is real life not a stunt

Doubling up equals witch hunt

On the woman with the “KIDS”

Hansel and Gretel still kick at this

But I wonder what myth this is

The Lochness monster

Bigfoot

Big belly

Ex man is jelly

Tummy shaped like telly

Rhymes and rituals are my novice, my Machiavelli

But don’t dry my intentions with black ash as the air will become quite smelly

That’s what does it…

The truthful smell of a thing

The smell of deceit is protected by the spell of a conjured wedding ring

The smell of childhood trauma extinguished by choirs who all sing

And laws that expel clear thoughts like water running down a sinnnnnnk

Think,

When rings are lost in the plumbing

And choirs are sullen, just humming

Why then do we think of the crucified

When the smell is always live

And stunning

A witch can travel through space and change face but is somehow only found in one mystical place

The darkest wood of them all

Ironic considering that that bitch is flammable?!

It’s just like being wrapped up in large debts that have you hanging from your walls – necks – death – but live – hex – ?

It’s just like believing fire can cure my evils

Cos like money, we witches print more and curse-doors and have stores of wonderful wicked things, like hypnotised children singing with blackened wings and weddings rings

And guilt trips that send you off of cliffs

And sad nostalgic guitar rifts

Lusty potions to keep you stiff

Let’s not be children and become consumed in a green inferno

From which copper sulphate goes boom in the sky

4th of July

Christmas

Valen-whines-day

Halloween Theme Boozer

New Years Drugs Cruiser

Any cunts birthday Balooser

….

Election

Natural selection

Shameful erection

Sorry, pardon my inspection

Data selling

CCTV

DO RE MI

Marry me

Magazine

Super tea

Gluten free

Animal cruelty

Saving scheme

Skinny jeans

Class mobility

You should have just burned me

Before I managed to grab my broom

And sweep your dirty thoughts delicately from the imagined room

You should have tied me down

Like the bands that will own your soul from now

Right above hell to keep your

blood hot

and your fruitful vessels round

But they won’t pop

They won’t boom or bust – foul

I am setting you free from the wicked root of your suffering now

Having any root at all is far from cool

And killing me is just like trying to kill us all

A Buddhist might remind you to be nice

A politician will tell you things are alright

Just let me operate in the dark of midnight

For then like you I might see incoming fires that are only seen without light – my dead sisters pyres

I have your instructions on my mouth and your DNA in my cauldron

Watch me manipulate your souls while you continue to scold them

My sister with sore blister

Incapable of a ‘mister’

Our minds of unnatural twist

A land is never without its cysts.

R.M.C

Art by WANGECHI MUTU

Ovarian Cysts