Went to a poetry readings at Te Papa today.

Some really nice stuff.

One line in particular caught me

"Time is turtles all the way down"

With a Scarf about my Neck.

The wall was a whale and it told Me the truth.
Shot me up on a spout of gold, up and over the roof.
I was rumble-tumble flying for a second at least
But I bricked up my cave-in, I'm safe incomplete.
True reflections slide and shimmer
They don't look away when the lights grow dimmer
I held out my hand to a multitude
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad"
It takes a strong man to make it better.

The tunnel was an ending, in a fishnetlike way
I slipped through where the gutter cracks the paved
Staircase to heaven, piled of whatif's and maybe's
Slung back to style retro-newness of bell-bottom jeans
Here the turtles don't dawdle and the suns spin out loud
DJ, revolver, and strung out crowd
We would have laughed through the tears the skies bled
Blankness came over me, white-smoking lead
Split-second to departure, stretched figures
Yawning richness of disaster
I held time in my butter-cream hands
Like the pill that I couldn't swallow.

Truth butters the ears of the wise

I once watched a man fall to the drink
He was noble and proud and crumbling underneath
Like a New York city sunset
I once saw a woman step over the brink
Her baby was crying, nothing to drink
She was grim and determined
All plasticine and granite
Molded into a tomb to protect
Her child in ragged arms she feared more than death.

I once sat in a movie where the protagonist won
Tumbling through the rabbit hole. Saved by the gun
When smoke finally rinsed away, he stared into those eyes
Black pools afloat in the milk of surprise
It was himself that died.
I once threw some garbage in the can and it missed
Rolled into a fortress of yesterday's leavings
I hope the trashman comes soon

Dear self: You got lazy. You got rusty.
Time to step up to the plate
Where is your mother?
On the other taxi. It's parked right outside.
If only wooden spoons were crafted of earth.
Overtop puddings, kahlua and vodka
The three a's in alcohol,
With the "Aaaahh" to wash it down
You've cooked up a spiral
Staircase to oblivion
Put the brakes on reality
This is where I get out.

Save the Whales

A man lounges at a white screen
All the while bytes of data trickle and pool
Beneath the whirring lights of his desktop
Promising everything and nothing
Fingers lunching on the keys
Crunch, crunch, crunch
He punches out his mind
The artificial wooden desk
Bears silent testimony
Cradling electronic beast in one hand
An orphaned ball-point huddles in the corner

Acid-washed expression.
Every man is Adam.
In charge of the sub-committee
On reasons for existence
Thank you very much.

Secular humanist theology is the modern dancing bear. It has been detoothed and declawed, muzzled, and chained. Now it dances before you for your amusement, and if it isn't your cup of tea, you can always keep walking, no biggie. Sure it's very safe, but it's also lost its power. The very thing that made it any use had inevitable danger associated with it. People put up a huge cry against cruelty to animals, but what about cruelty to theology?
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