"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things."
Rainer Maria Rilke
Rainer Maria Rilke
a bloodthirsting spring in sydney
the wind the wind
wakes all the small serpents
they wrap around legs and nights
asking for the great yes and the great no
it is why i love this country and why i don’t
i cannot contend for this world when
i keep thinking of the sight of you
last night on the top of my hill
in manly, i walked home and got to
watch the moonlight clearing
her throat as she asked me
for the first time, for something in return:
that i stop warring
and i remembered, you had asked me
the same years ago, when you lay
your naked body under that rhododendron
in another season not unlike this one,
back when i had you
I want the thing
he is so restless, as am i.
the blueness of our hour slowly leaned into
a moan - a wrinkled vista. it’s time, you see.
the sky was grey and clear, pink and blue shadows
under each cloud. but i was too distract, too wild.
all i could think of was how there was
too much lime in this world and
not enough gin. how the gentle are curious,
the curious not so gentle.
then he said -
come sweet breath, sweet rain, sweet dives
into my sandbar. see how spring is lifting you
like an undercurrent, softly rearranging
your dreams? have you not been saving
yourself, just for this? this fucking full moon
rising over a vague september sky
devouring in a gulp - that
we are not yet in love?
Euclid once wrote. I have no such purity
in me, outside of love. So I waited
on the Tarmac for the waves over the southern point and how they
will break through our veins for us
how I will cry out those marine slangs
for you and your naked storms
at dusk. Us splashing about
in that giant flesh, imploring
for more. We will go
like the blossoms.
you also suffer from the blindness of poets!
thoughts of you folded in and out of my origamied mind
late afternoon when the storm clouds came
down to lick the tar like surface of the sea.
the world slowly unbraided itself for us -
sugar cubes slipping out of her hair,
the earth fluttered against my soul.
it was all you.
only you could find the catastrophe of
my personality beautiful and modern.
your looked at me like a french word.
the one for nursery.
the one for rain.
next time, i will read rilke to you until the sun rises and you fall.
i, too, struggle with the unconditional. sitting at the edge of the ocean close to dawn, on the edge of that bright dark, the open wish of the world was too distant to mean much. like how when music is to far a way, your eyes won’t flinch to their touch….
looking down at the sky, you took my hand and whispered how we must keep this faint music under things hidden and heard and let it hover until grace occurs