The Rink

the rink is covered
by your icy remarks

any excuse
a query
something wrong

but could not move
then got itself moved

we often forget that
we are right at the beginning

and it’s just like that
we’d rather believe the taunts of others
and beat ourselves to death
savage/modernity

is it the name or
the thing?
is it The Thing?
is it IT itself?
is it self, is it fake-self, non-self
empty-self?
is it not worth it?

maybe listening to
more than one at a time
is more real,
find more to learn
or is that a lie, does the
ritual spread thin
deserve to be beheaded?

will you reveal yourself as not cool
not real?

you give up the thing
and nothing bad ultimately happens
then much running is
pointless-circle-running

what loses its point is
no longer worth pursuing

the circle
is surprised by
the behaviour of the square
the squirrel attacks the cat
the wombat is
a burrowing plant eater
in Australia
with a head
four short legs
one spinal column
waving to you hello
from a cartoon;
cracking code problems
from a Dan Brown novel…

it is worth it
the thing is worth it

we are here while we are here

while we are here while
it is being forced down the
throat of our realm of experience
why bring up
death and the stench of death
when the suburbs have
embraced us as is
as infants for as far back as
can be remembered and
there is no credible evidence
of being snatched up
out of what has been handed
down, or the imposition
upon those of us who who get pissed on
in the so-called greatest country name called
and mauled
admitting we’re esoteric weirdos
snap your fingers now or sometime between
now and before the
end of this IT, it’s too late!
eye-tee
like then like now you were and are
quietly there and here and out and out and out

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