s/myonlyhope

 

wordiscolourlessbutfullofsubstanceinbonesoflogicthewordistseekscolourdesperate/aboveallbutfallsbacktosubstancethewordistisalchemistlookingthevisionintoformlessessenceandincantswordonwordtobringforthconjureformofdemon/angelbeautyindeepmetacolourbeyondsimplephysicalperceptionbeyondseencolourthecolourofGodlostandlonesomeindepthofheartmindmoves/ingeternalslowtheworldcannotcomprehendagainstits/paceforturmoilthatisjusteverlastingyouthofeachmoment/moment/of/liveyoujustcanltseewitheyeorfeeltouchwithtipsfingerorbreastnippleorclitorisyoumusttothedesertofwordalwaysreturntocumbackmoits/incompiehensiblepainanddrybeyonddrynesssuchisthemonkofjoyinadeadplaceyoucanneverfindanythingbutthecolourlessnessoftimeburdenedinyourheartofheartsturningtosandflowsinyourveins/andfalls/throughtimetofullnessyourbreastsripeforsuchabuseoflo/v/u/e/stcanyousubmittothepainoftrueinthighnes

(c) greg t. charlton. 1989. 2025.

road songs

 

as to /

what you see - the surface (of another) is hardly it / you always see beyond your focus ) outwards ( and beneath is what you already know up front / like the clothes worn on a body (it's called the showing) get that for a turn around - there is nothing beyond (Wittgenstein tried this one on) so why would you bother to inquire? at the heart of things / everybody kneels and pants / the hunger is immoral (and insatiable) so you have to divert / Darwin was on the track here - make planes (not the flying machines) for to throw off the stench - and there assemble the structure (the world) in Venice it's called a mask - in delirium the end of sickness (for mathematicians it doesn't really exist however to keep you quiet they will concede function / though really why would you bother to turn your gaze from delight / the rest of us they will tell you have been looking in the wrong way) / what is the absence of (?) - and you wonder why it is ingrained - so // there have always been beings who structure unique (only as a defence against the metaphysics of solid things) and you can learn there is no place - so anywhere will do nicely thank you very much or like my father you can reach transcendence a spiritness (completely hidden by the appearance)

what is behind / what is behind / the eyes (the field of action you might say physicists like to think they've got it cold - in fact they don't see that you can't see the seeing / OK back up Shorty / imagine little wire like figures (without minds) moving in relation to (there is no substance to these things) they are pictures that have no referents / lights (that are never seen) so / at least there is happening and it has no hold on itself / (blind as Saturday night) yeah OK so why the anguish as if nailing it would stop the sweating and dreaming with no logic the point is moot

(I was going to say it's about separating out what's already separated out like saying what happens when you distinguish one colour from another / you draw a line that must already be there)

there are some women who only have intelligence left. they are skinny boney and brown as berries it's when you come to gardening as the only thing that makes sense / they have large eyes / harbouring a wisdom as cold as fruit / children gone as never had or hadable (it must be a relief) carving anger into a figure that stands on the window sill hollow eyes seeing only the outside (the last demon eating from a bowl on the kitchen floor) and men as if they never were shadows passing in the flicker of light down / through Autumn trees

the leaves on the path alone / true consolation

dissatisfaction is any movement away / therefore time is a deduction / in the logical and economic senses positions are held in / and let go the point is everything falls (not just you) and the next world into place (don't sweat it you haven't lost your mind just a step or two) and you had all that space in that one instant? hard to imagine hey - and some want to tell you it's cause and effect where do these people come from I ask you the rubbish heap is just bits that survived the world's loss of itself and it's replication - there's always a cost / the skinny white girl says opening her legs and her smile is already died for (so when do you start paying?) the way of things is an illusion there is no change beneath the days (it's only light that gives the appearance of corruption and birth) in a dark room you have a chance to review / the crime was the beginning / (full stop) and the thing is no-one did it / and so entirely by accident you've stumbled on the origin of laughter / (is the fire of light) / drunk eyes see with delight

and the sickness? - always before and after just the way of it if you watch from the farm house the road the line where nothing comes / whoosh or goes / a solitary tree in the dry dirt / like there's a reason for something (legs can only hold it together for so long) and then the other world closes up tight / you never really know how to get out / not to worry Murray you don't appear to have suffered at all / that is from the inside out / as to - well we won't go there now will we -

and there is an image it could be everywhere and it just connects to one girl (no wonder she took to the night and the hopeless attempt to shed pride) and after years on that corner only the light burned brighter

we know everyone has reasons / and everyone knows there is no reason / imagine if the truth did not flicker (what a state we'd be in) Jesus only the dogs would know (it's called a joke) you see the point is not knowing / so your biso would just be the same / with the same cunts beings cunts and Saturday night at the local with Myrtle (true love_ it would seem withstands every configuration of plagues / God only knows where that door leads to last time it was the street but that was before the stars were shut down / Maurie said it's finished but then he might be right off his head I would bet the dream ended in the last century and you just stopped wishing / strange calmness in the Burra / no more poker night they tell you at 6.00. p.m. / now there's a sign (and like them all sign-ifying nothing) I say stick it (what the gang at the bar have had to face is eternity) light as a touch

perhaps we just fold down for a time and by chance the drugs start working again - or some such mistake occurs you see the idea of it staggering to a / or dissolving itself into a what? is too much of a stretch in this day and age of wire like things behind the curtain making picture shows you think you're watching (the facts are quite simple) Lulu tap dances at the Ritz at 4 in the arvo and only Benny the taxidermist turns up to watch so there's never really been a last days / show closing (though it's in someone's mind) / and yes it's not good to be trapped like that / but hang it all who can bear the cross let alone the hanging (around) / and as if leaving means anything at all - some people are sick in the head / they think death is an opening like there's a difference between things yeah right

horror shudders down the street (the world is unaware)


yeah

who would have thought the brace / the chain-mail of text - as hard as bark really hides the dancing - (the beauty of it is inside you see) the imposition of it is not a closing a trap a shut down to the floor nailed - the secret is this - this grid of syntax is the gateway to the mind's delight it is what happens beneath the signs and their constants - the possibilities released like a plague and the wind is without scarring - or heart sinking regret it is the spirit released / this is where you live when you walk outside / and madness is

every delight / I know the price is sanity / and yes the logic of it is three dimensional the journey into the outside the outside turning itself back to - what we have is the fluidity of water it is not subject / object vertical looking into space - the great horizontal - I mean who is to say that's it otherwise no one would paint or do numbers - and it's just not that how it appears is the background to what will be / there are innocents that are capable of the most horrendous crimes of the heart and spirit / and they play as if nothing has happened / I love the music of old men and women / down the autumn boulevard

the streetscape is just a cover for the great motion that is beyond order and disorder /a point of light / still / eternal (anything else?)

I keep thinking of splints - wooden splints tied to legs as if this is a metaphor for lives splintered - the terror of being destroyed is quite simple - it can happen before you loose your mind with grief those sunny days / there is in fact no crime - the actor just walks off - the stage is dead the audience gone there is nothing left to say and so we make a mythology to give some significance to everything / and it is rather necessary / there is the backdrop of stars and their implications just setting / context really for our peculiar affairs / the killers walk free the dead never leave the miracle is without choice / and that is the point

to be embraced denied forgotten trashed left on the roadside by a desert cafe it's footsteps really just mind marks on paper or ground sky or water and nothing to be found beneath or beyond really this is the great mystic river - you see there just is no dilemma where did I get that idea from as if you have to try and work it out and live a life of epistemological misery either that or go completely immoral leaving bits and pieces of your mind on the broken days / (like an insect collector) mirrors reflect the intrusions across light and its variations to absence / there is always the poker game upstairs at Fat Tony's (hey its a point of focus / saved lives / just going up those stairs each Tuesday since 1954 is reason enough) / there's not much to it I hate to say / apart from the waves of colour behind your eyes

I remember the caress of tress down the convent road the park just sitting to the side always a place of peace / and for young lovers to be free (those trees against the sky) there were years I wandered gentle in their gaze

what has happened to that space and every other time I had the luxury of - is it all still there layers on layers and always the new one face up and ready for imprint perhaps the odd detail changed in case an inventory needs to be taken latter / this is to say there are objective marks to time though some will tell you esse est percipi (it's the seeing that makes the world you can be cursed with such a lover) the rest is imagination / but the real question is how to describe anything / like what is to count as final / or for that matter is there an initial state? It's a carnival and you just go from one tent to another the wonders increase with each step and the laughter is without awareness /

so there is a purity of act we cannot grasp / on reflection - it is the directness of being qua being as they say at the Bottom Bar / (and it becomes a longing to be intensified / you see the tragedy is you never forget / the forms are eternal / and life / your life - the introduction to essence

with each person / or really any event - it is as if everything was begun again - and a new direction taken / like repetition is impossible and the link is difference/

(not drinking can be perilous)

God / it's just a question of art really / something is behind it all and it makes the things and the wires necessary to hook them up to work / and the workers necessary to electrify the things and these workers are really just things-plus / the fact is though it's all got right out of hand / (and I mean big time though no one's really saying just how bad it is yet) look we know any project can go off the rails / and it's not that it has a life of its own it's rather that in this case the knowledge got lost and now every thing is moving without any reason at all (strawberry fields forever) / and this is what some have always longed for / and others will tremble

look / it's either all in or all out / that's logic (writ large; small is 'either / or') / erotic dancers have an identical movement but they can only show it / they have no way of saying it in words (as Wittgenstein demonstrated) the point is it doesn't matter one way or the other / you are / whatever you want to call it (or) however you wish to dress it up / or whatever name you adopt or give // if you think / and have some courage you will always be beyond definition / (hanging out there with the wild ones) therefore anguish and delight / OK enough said / the stools are up / the lights are going out the door / the night is waiting /

down the street go dreamers full of madness


I went down

into the shadows) the wings of logic (soundless Icarus denied / to fly in the absence of forms / a moment of retreat the only ecstatic possible / a trick of dispersement / or the seeing between every thing / on the street bright as day / the pure appearance of light is no covering / rather the illumination of its darkness / Molly the bar maid in skirt and leggings comes to be (around the corner) her face // all the stones and sky (even traces of the spirits / come and gone) aspire to be / her lovely legs the beginning of the world (as we know it) every thought and touch from and to / the magic of the ordinary / is impossible to grasp with eyes or numbers we dissipate in pursuit of completeness / Pythagoras drowning /

silver screaming through the light the blue sky still // the continuous relentless tragedy renews / so I like to read books or poems that barely make sense / like hanging from a balcony by-your-finger-tips / the shut down begins day one / ask any rag trader / it's either / or - a cruel sanity the sinking to the knees / (or) / the release / the rush of madness - something beyond mind - perhaps just star dust from your skin / yes I remember the disconnect was complete the river was inside / a ride into bright darkness (I lived in two hotels and was looking for a third?) the thing is you are better to look out / there is nothing beneath - to see to grab to listen to / (the illusion is you) I hate to be the one - but there I've done it / you can wander off now (the outside is where the dreaming goes on)

Spinoza returned / as an itinerant preacher /(Panama hat / baggy pants) how to recover from the ravages of spirit / in prison the inmates tell him / from the point of view of eternity (means) who gives a fuck? / there are tribes that wander the alleys and meet on the steps / rituals of cleansing and abstinence / directions are never true / the light deceives / (you have no hope) only the illusion of front / like the actor and the eternal question / a good script? / or Beckett (the idea of what is between the words) that is the place (you never get out of) therefore the escape of language is sinful / God does not express / I would like to believe / the only truth is wood / I have seen it everywhere / and I was never looking / so / behind every act of design was the absence of form / nothing is the real deal / and this but a throw away (you think everyone knows at some level the voices stop saying / and what is left is all we have / ask the ex-weather girl at the esplanade market / it's tense / and Jesus the bar has disappeared as if the world started again (from scratch) / should anyone have to stand in the wind in a dead man's suit / juggling dreams / for all the world to see?

the tragedies go to bone / mind is a bird of flight / the days an eternal reflection repeating (the absence of substance the passage of light) and time a picture of space / the irresolvable connection is just ways of speaking (the idea of tense and position) necessary for locomotion (from a point of view of consciousness) it happens anyway and so the great superfluousness / nevertheless the source of every emotion (the climate reflected in your heart) / an exquisite / the essence everywhere and way displayed in your eyes // it just goes / it just goes / on down Fitzroy St. right into the mouth of the sea / we have no status in the cosmos - there is no differentiation / vitality a perception / perception - the lake reflecting in the sky / the sky back to the lake / it goes on / it goes on / creatures have self asserting biology / just a question of wiring / and God is the shadow / in the darkness / dancing / we can't help ourselves / there is just no end to the embrace / the trick is to forget / the problem of reason / wrap yourself in colourful / apparel and focus on your hands / the journey is just a distraction / (at best all the attributes of a feast) / nothing is left once you go / memory is the trick / we are the makers of assertion and denial / machines with hearts / 010101 /etc. / etc.. ....... (but oh the beauty of eyes)

down at the pier there are two old men who fish in a spirit sea they speak the ancient dialect of recollection and are mad with joy / only the wind can see them / they have /clouds for eyes / they leave stories on old newspapers / and people ponder the signs left / the question of meaning / you can hear them dreaming at the break of dawn / it is the sound of light / whether they come from time or not is impossible to say we must have an open mind on creation / the essence of form is anarchy / only time puts in the fix / and we all know how that goes / so perhaps the best picture is the horizon (at least infinity is self-consistent) so relief there - and the hills provide a buffer - a point of view / time for the sandwich by the side of the road / and then the walking on / the dust / defies design / we walk in absence / beyond the trees there are mind places / with ancient bearings / and young people reinterpret

I became a direction for accident / fixed from an arbitrary point / (as if there is an opposite - this is where the madness begins) and so the artwork is displayed (from no hand) in every act and thought / it comes to nothing (it never leaves the blackness) despite the illusion of Sun (at best out of this poverty a stream of figures / signs posited as meaning / the world is just a making of itself (ex nihilo) - and for all intents and purposes everything just is what you believe / and what you look at / is what is there / here is the miracle / the true beauty of nothing behind / the great storm of the heart / (is the only presence) a silence of force and fury / (we are all mute) and every color through your eyes / of course you must pray in the cold house of marble and wood where God fearing men come and go / and the great fraud of St. Augustine was just this / (the decision to bow) / the garden scene made for television / we are all dressed in pictures of the mind / and so to the true state of affairs / chanting and incense / and the deep symphony of shadows / and you will leave / never to find / (it is just the argument for stillness) that is impossible to recover / and this from before / the beginning of things / a thought that has no grounding / of course the flight is light itself (and substance but the illusion of self)

my heart / is a myth of history lost to breath // there is no sound / only the space of possibility / poets imagine a place of joy or pain - I know the fields of everlasting / the moment of birth / is not where anything begins / it is the playing out of the great argument / here is a way to see / that will set you free

down every road on every path / delight


ah yes

the point of view: you could say the individual breathing / always / a product dash function of existing structures / systems - that is above and beyond - the beauty of small dreams and salutations // and this we say holds like a fish bowl in God's hands // yes what to do? - you can be one with the great nothing of forms or stand apart outside the old movie theatre / in the darkness and the lonely lights (talking to the girl in the ticket box - who could just be you a chromosome or two removed) / so / in logic action is based on negation / this is the pure deal / no content or substance to glug up the works (clear vision has nothing to do with existence)

if so / the rational / ethical / and the only move in nature is against / (this does not answer your question) the emptiness is the source the place to return to of spirit - it is the ground of not

the responsibility for the world is in your fingertips / beyond / there is no account - the sky has only colour / you cannot touch

and to this dilemma of being conscious - of what cannot be embraced - you can only adopt a character for the play and watch from the back row how it goes / the careless heart is a great defence and for the most part fool proof / the seeker of knowledge is always deluded and well received at the moment / contempt the lasting impression out in the farmlands where every face is welcoming / hey there neighbour // the possibilities are quite endless good and evil just the different forms nature uses / for the pointless endeavour of continuance (fortunately from the inside we are all drowning in significance)

universals are concrete and have no centre of consciousness - so / the quaint think they can vote in or out the powers that be - and the disinclined imagine a glory of destruction / the revolution starts now - only to find after the party the masks have just been swapped or somewhat re-drawn / new divisions where there were once old enmities (you can get really sick of the whole story especially the puppet heads of history)

on the other hand the idea that you have control over anything but your thought is one of those necessary illusions that makes sanity a reasonable prospect / and every one can enjoy the street party - well let's face it who wouldn't step into the bar and stay for a decade?

don't mean to Ryle ya but category mistakes are necessary / to keep various continents of reality semi-connected - otherwise it would just be the chaos of windowless monads and girls with no morals

first up pain / you would imagine / is indubitable (ought to stop the slide into nothingness very quick smart ) - and but for an argument of necessity or recurrence this would be the end of it / a foundation for consciousness and a definition of evil - the two for one option (just think of the 3d geometric contortions your soul has been put through or you put it through over the years of faces and limbs and tell me you don't believe in cause and effect sweetheart)

and so the beast / the horror in sunlight (beauty is indefinable and black)

at any point // space / time co-ordinates - the mesh / the matrix / the grip -

as if to make order // - the imposition you know is false (before any dream)
the fix on eternity for every thought and action (necessary)

in desperation / always

a way forward
a road / through


© greg t. charlton. 2024. 2025.

all rights reserved.
killer press.

 

super blood wolf moon

 

here it is

the less

of faces voices

occupiers of space

(as if its empty

I mean really)

anyway

they're here 

& you

have to deal

run into

nod

'how are ya?'

for me tho

these days

as distinct from

others

I go for

(preference is)

less

it's just too many

worlds

essentially

incomprehensible

in the heads

comin'

at ya

& I mean

when you boil it

down

its the same sludge

given the spark

a kick start

& for god

knows why

not even

if the truth ...

as they say

there is a great battle 

of violins 

(janine jansen)

in my head

bach /

(saturday sonata)

turning to 

art 4

a universal

however it comes

thank you

& gone forever /

once touched

so we are?

ghosts

fleeing 

ghosts?

however you want

to say

really

language falls apart

if you want to nail

anything

I mean nail

a thought

a word 

a deed

no kiddin'

nothing else

for it

we pretend a logic

only to

negotiate

the haplessness

&

of course

each 

other

unknowns

rattling away

shooting colours

into the vault

everyone says

is on the move

what I say is

forget

the dogged search

you can't void 

the void

& you just wear

your bones

down

& your eyes

start to die

we all need 

the jump start

of joy

any way you can

get it

that is the real task

stay afloat

sweetheart

the boat is always

sinking

walk on water

dance across

the world

there's really

no choice

amen

these days add

nothing

to the deep blue

the stillness

of presence /

we conjure

construct

& the endless

talent

of abstraction /

as if a leap forward

just

a reconfiguration

of stones

& thoughts

new heads

popping up /

the pretence of

the unique

every life

a fallacy

only there is no

truth

therefore

you say

ok

I figure we can't step out

of

the dialectic

it's really just

different formulations &

different combos

of matter

& words

you gotta love

the innocence

of

not

knowing

it's a cracker

& never defeated

no matter what

pressure is

layered

on

we come through

despite

I'd like to start from scratch

alas

there is no such 

place or point

or wherever

you launch yourself 

from

each day 

hour minute

time is a needle

that just keeps going

in

& place

per se

irrelevant

it is really just

a calculation 

one tree

in the middle of

nowhere /

do the math

colours change

shapes change

& still I persist

here I am

yes

you just can't avoid

the indeterminacy

tho I stab

my cane

into the dust

it is to

catch a world

a mote in god's eyes

or the strange thought

disappearing

in panic

around the corner

in a maze of

allays

as good a way

(I say)

as any

meta construct

i.e. the rule

of benedict

or a mafiosi

family dinner

(not to mention

kant's

imperative

& any other

short sharp

pretension

to order

against the beautiful

chaos

of hands eyes

lips & thighs)

you are born into 

this trap

and while you may

unravel some 

chains

the only option is

another /

or complete

disregard

and here you must be

a magician

turning the tricks

as you wander

a metaphysical

vagabond

to the tune

of robert

louis

stevenson /

a hundred miles

or more

whatever the case

however you fashion

or

whatever fashion

you fall into

the world is wide

and every definition

every definition

science

religion

perception

fails

& in the silent

constant

crashing

is released

the laughter 

of the gods

& children

the clouds are on fire

the heart

is beating

with other humans

you just have to hope

or rule of thumb

pretend

they understand

your words

your eyes

your gait

& the question

(perhaps it should be

preeminent)

do you know

yourself

& your 

shot in the dark

so

who's to bless

who's to blame?

whatever happens

on the village green

by the abandoned

rail road station

it's there

in the silence of

lost footsteps

from other worlds

of old men

in stetson hats

& the women

who made homes

with hands & dreams /

out of nothing given

& everything

found

I am grateful

for these days of

trees & light

grateful to who 

or what

you say

to cut the history 

of the world

short

to the end of time

(or shall we say)

the argument

stopped

dead

the trees & light /

you can only give

to what is given

& yes

the endless possibilities

of description

interpreting

to be frank

is pointless /

yo

& it's only

lunatics like me

that got trapped

in the vortex

for a time

for a song

for a breast

for a thigh

her pale blue

eyes

we live 

wasteland dreamers /

& I say

our souls are in the dirt

& burning trees

against the battle

of contingency

nothing can be said

hence

refuge in art

& other necessary

delusions of the spirit

& flesh

& where to find

the strength?

(it comes & goes)

the hoped for

presence

the unexpected

guest

this comes across as data

unrelenting /

calculation /

& there is no (logical)

sum

we make equations

in desperation

& they are all false

constructions

nevertheless

she says with a smile

standing outside

the old farm house

her cotton dress

talking to the wind

the endless fields

the sky blue forever

& of this man

time the soundless

shudder

of wings

shadows trapped /

in the conception

of self

& to a point

of no extension 

if viewed

as separate to

this body

of course

not /

a centre of 

consciousness

the inside

of flesh & blood

conatus

if you like

the matter

should be left

at that

I am guilty of

every foolishness

heroic acts

in the name of

the heart

today 

I suspend judgment

& choose

the way of

unknowing

to be free of

the burden of

belief

and the trap of

true & false

my body is riddled

with these

pretensions

they are the marks

of battles

won & lost

the history

of the dreaming

I come to you

as a warrior

from the battlefield

of discarded

weaponry

/ only the good

get a berth 

the horror of years

has come to this

blessing

the winds of dreaming

hard losses

& ecstasies

a spirit breathes

in eternity 

as eyes & hands

enthral

in the delight

of particularity

the immersion

in sense

there is no ending

here /

only an exhaustion

of heart /

& the body

its marks though time

a history of the world

touched

there is no stasis

beliefs /

light points

in a kaleidoscope of

colours

sounds

scents

textures

tastes

the I

never appears /

a construct

invoked /

to separate 

to exclude

to invite

(and)

despite our most abstract

adventures

excursions into

possible worlds

the relativity

of every system of

thought

or

action

/

even 

the fall 

into

nothing

ness

we are left on solid 

ground /

shaking

facing 

what we have made /

or what

we have 

disassembled 

(another way of making)

& the questions

what & why

(and time

no more than

different 

perspectives

on when &

if)

it is conscious ness

that is given

the world

is brought

to heel /

it is the platform of

perception

& perception

determines

what is perceived

so /

we fly from the base

& take up different

perspectives

on where we have come

from

& we are

(this is the churning

of possibilities

& the marks of ageing

only the tracks 

laid down

& abandoned)

& the going forward 

into the light

is ageless / timeless

ever young

on any death bed /

or

the next thought

on what to do

the hills are on fire

the bar room 

chanteuse

laments

empty rooms

the regime of

the wandering spirit

& bodies

through time /

trapped in physics

(we live /

suspended) /

this is 

the song of songs

the hills are on fire

you come back to 

this

always

the touch unbroken

of random hearts

beating

words & dreams

against

the place of trees

enclosing

the purity

of no human mark

we have only

the salvation 

of dirt 

wind

& leaves

the constancy

of movement 

consciousness

has no rest

inside or

out /

just variations

of frequency

so we 

manufacture

foundation

for stillness

as if there is

a place 

& time

.

& truths

we can seal

in certainty

.

everything 

was true

& every truth

lost

.

(3 girls

in the union

building

1975

I chose 

1)

.

I have only

possibility

in the sunshine

of the day

.

(beware 

the eyes

the heart 

devours)

.

we are all lost

in the dreaming

the horror

or

delight

a red square

a red heart

beauty runs among the trees

flowing in scarves 

of sunshine

the green

is deep

& deeper

there is no reason

to be

or not /

the world is 

the next action

anywhere

you look out &

hold

a trick of physics

space & time

otherwise

no separate

ness /

the order defeats

account

& knowledge is

this loss

written up

the young lovers

laughing 

in the park /

autumn leaves 

falling

play with

the dying 

light

this day

a perfection

worthy of

anselm

(I am faraway)

a country rd

in 72

the sunshine

a melody of

gentle ghosts

the essence 

& its folding

into itself

we travel down

roads

never before

created /

& just as soon

lost

lines

disappearing

into

nothing

space /

without dimension

& time

dissolving

her eyes /

there is no end

& I am

beyond

description

reaching for

a word

in a symphony 

of silence

the fields of grass

sway

there is reason in the heart

that was born before dreaming

I ride in terror / the lost crusader /

who can imagine the damage?

a naked girl stands still for the world / 

this is art & meaning & essence

in autumn days I wonder / wander

among the fallen words

look 

his poetry 

like himself

full of substance 

but for mine

overweight /

I like skinny poems

& skinny girls

logic

it's as skinny

as you can

get

great symphonies

consume

there is nowhere

to run

everyone needs

that tear in the sky

his grandma

used to sit him 

on her knee

banjo

in hand

& yodel

really

I can't imagine

why

nevertheless

that's the story

sweetheart

& do we have anything

else /

to hammer into

dirt?

a fixture hey

in the moving feast of

eyes /

vanities

& lies

well really 

a question of

metaphysical place

I mean where are you

shooting from

on what floor

& in what direction?

there are very different 

realities

& levels

thereof /

intersections 

catastrophic

at the core

two sets

looking at each other

what's been gained

any loss?

at least

we like to think so

zeno 

& all that jazz

I mean

turtles

all the way

down

yeah so

my old friend is closing down

& yes there is a reasoning

really 

when is there not?

this game of making

facts / shaping

colouring

placing

as the art of

presentation

(nothing more)

taking from 

the chaos 

of heart 

of mind

the eternal agitation

and giving it fashion

giving it form

we are all gods

of the earth & sky

& this capacity

to design

in our bones /

really the only tool

we have

who is to say

where

anyone is coming

from

is heading to?

no essence

in flesh

& mind

the inside

of space

I wander among 

the bodies

& creations

of matter /

pretences

meant to stand

& beyond all this

a dreaming 

of signs

the only reference /

what we give 

the necessity

of life

we wait in the long grass

for any sign

& who is to say what

the yes

has a history

of infinite galaxies

with no start

(how small can it go?)

& yet

a snap 

out of nothing

so

the texture of hair

the viscosity of limbs

against

an impression of

hard things

& mind

in parentis loco /

the world

as a deviant urchin

I am bound by

nature

& I cannot set

the limit

dark red shawls

scattered 

lost & free

on the trek to 

the precipice

& boneyard

of angry gods

there is a logic to this man 

and the reason?

a pretty idea

as sharp

& as bankrupt

as its opposite /

there is nothing

to be said

but everything 

that is said

& what could that

amount to?

enough

if the sun shines

in your day

too much 

in the clouds

we live forever

in passion /

only reincarnations

re-imaginings

bodies / souls

without purpose

only fire 

wind rain earth

the elements

the great symphony

of chaos

desire

life / death

the heart

is never left

never

forsaken

my love

my heart is high / 

today 

the world is winter greys / 

greens

& melbourne town could be 

of any year /

an unexpected quietness

& I am shuffling around

with dear old bob

he is a master bookbinder

& we talk of the business

closing

it is exhausting him

the time has come

sad yes

& almost a tear

from brave eyes

I say 

your work is beautiful

& timeless

& that you cannot buy

he says 

with a wry smile

& you can't sell it

either

as we wander up 

little bourke

to grand hatters

& more beauty

.

jasmine

a sea of bright stars

in the fluidity

of spirit

unfixed &

evolving to no law

in the dream

scape

of a young

woman's

eyes

.

we are dream shadows /

awake

in a physic of earth & sky /

& objects (their qualities)

touchstones

of deception

the craving for

realisation

haste 

against

an order of

consciousness

too deep 

to see 

or 

touch

could be anyone

hey?

iron & steel

aspirations

in this world of

hearts / minds

cuttin' through

to what?

so blessedness

is just what is

& as for not

don't waste your

time

putting on the glam

sweetheart

it'll leave you

bereft

oh no

(& this poem

has a lean /

no matter how

you size it up

on a monday

getting

cold)

.

it is the quiet knowledge

that is the definition of

each & every living thing

.

the 

infinite 

variation

of 

one 

design

.

caitlan 

yes

physics is the determination

of bodies

still / in motion

space / time

nevertheless

within

this fixture

the spirit /

(it's fluidity)

exploring

the worlds

of its own

creation

.

lonesome jack lonesome

& the same river twice

boys

on tour endless

the search for

still / life

.

I have no reason

but the reason I give 

at any moment

nothing but dust

alive / 

no order / design

flying blind

yes we manufacture

structures

foundations 

logics

to 

mind & heart

how is anyone to get by

without?

might I suggest

embrace

embrace it all 

the pleasures

the pain

gain & loss

history & hope

just embrace it all

& everyone

that comes to

your door

do not exclude

deny

repress

revile

nb

this is no solution

just a way of seeing

a way of being /

a place for dust

to fall

lives of distraction

one & all?

& from death / suffering /

nothingness?

(in its myriad of forms)

the energy of distraction

the world made / remade

continuous creation

the real constant

C

every day / every action

every moment

creation of nothing

& for no reason =

every reason

(back to black

as soon as you do

the arithmetic)

old pals 

of the dreaming

the days / the years

the moments

we plied each other

with 

verities /

deceptions 

schemes

& plans

madness

hope & loss

(is it all the sum

of joyous eyes?)

& people 

disappeared

into other

dimensions

other realities /

& no one 

can be sure

where they have

ended up

what they have

become

or who they are

still the dance

goes on

we live in abeyance

the touchstone

a constant

remaking

& never grasped

never held

(the quiet joy

sightings

of old friends

in worlds

gone)

nothing is lost 

& we are saved

from implosion

from dissolution

from insanity

the arrow of

time

.

"people

going astray"

says bob

"must be

the weather

this cold day"

.

for amanda

(who totally  gets it)

this battle of perceptions

ideas / conceptions

& a given view /

a common view

nothing more than 

submission to /

the risk is

you end up mean 

& solitary

holding true /

against the mob

or you can 

(this is possible)

disregard

with equanimity

&

go 

your 

own

sweet

way

with a touch of

magnanimity

a touch of class

take a wide view

with 

a dispassionate

& gentle

regard /

(human folly

at every turn)

.

3 lauren way

.

hey substance 

comes to what

she moves on tiled flooring 

around the kitchen

the new house

how does it stand up?

I mean really

living things

what can you say?

we fall back on

the poverty of science

cosmological clowns

(you take what you can get)

and spirit seers

a little more imagination

perhaps

or only just /

consciousness kills

the show

you can't see it

despite your backyard 

experiments 

or other world fantasies

(God & his crew

all tooled up

driving down rathdowne st

looking for a blue)

I have to say

the whole rigmarole 

is what it is /

which tells you precisely

zilch

this is the go 

just the interminable /

now some despair

& I say why not?

the smart ones

on the other hand

live within

burrow down

standing at the window

looking out

what you see

is all there is

nothing to question

nothing to doubt

whether you think

therefore

or not

p.s.

& don't kid yourself

there is no looking

back

it's gone /

best to live without 

the indulgence

of a past tense /

keep it sharp 

keep it clean /

a new day

the rising sun

we lose touch

our world

it seems has a di

minishing need

4 hands

& what

hands reach for ...

a cerebral re

configur

ing

underway

we move into

& are becoming

logical systems

(the slow dying of

sense)

head heart flesh

strange

intruders

/ wood & stone

hard ground /

beyond 

the grey blue

physics cannot

tame

and we leave earth

into the impossibility

of dreaming

different spaces

non

euclidean

shapes

the constant change

of no principle

yes

the indeterminacy

of the cat

we must be

lost in art

or go mad

on lonely streets

& doorways

huddled 

in rags

no salvation /

but you must keep

moving

we are too far out

now

to return to

(wherever it was)

.

my beloved

my heart

is the world

a strange

journey

out of nothing

& to where else?

you are

my brace /

the other

that holds 

against

dissolution

against

madness

I am 

in your arms

made true

without you

I am lost

my beloved

jude

.

skinny woman on tractor

here's

the jawbreaker

space / time

function of

percepts /

yeah so that's how

people &

things

disappear / re-appear /

in & out of

space / time cul de sacs

everyone / everything

is somewhere

even the dead

boyo

the bishop

had a point

(berkeley

that is

bishop of cloyne)

but he couldn't

stand his ground

hold his nerve

he quibbed out

dropped the bundle

& fell in line

God perceives everything

all the time

would have been

much more interesting

if he had left God

out of the picture /

& we had what we've got

random

indeterminate

sightings

I mean seriously

you think about it

do you really need 

a backstop

a ground to the ground?

it’s illusory

comforting yes

nevertheless

weak as piss

a bit more rigour

needed

cutting out the props

& the energy flows

in all directions

only the senses

make still

for the moment

of their

grasp

words

to ashes

poetry & 

philosophy

to hills /

& back to dust

back to

the dreaming

under

a super blood wolf moon

(c) greg t. charlton. 2019. 2025.