(no title)

My imaginary children Cinneroth & Rajasthan
are coming through the Living room to play with me
on the carpet, the Persian wing
huge in its flying
like an angel on leave from combat duty

I’m sunk in my soft couch
watch me play
in days of never
All the sunny
smiling leaves
of their adjacent forms
longing for the laughter, the screaming
and stench of baby poo
and bleach, the nausea
of jars of predigested babyfood

alltogether we would sing away
and go on adventure tours thru the wooden branches of the forest,
our hiking sacks sticking to trees
as we walked up the incline
Then, in next generations
trees would bloom
and the plume of the Mina bird would be the resurrection of the proud
louder than Nazareth*
in funky caverns we hid with/our minds as beavers
spanning crevices as spiders
long-legged and black, forgotten
webs of intimacy,
silly creational playing,
sidetracked from lopsided life
supping with the saviour
his hands now flesh and bone
drinking the wine of the Father
his feast in heaven, waiting
pertaining to our collective unconscious.
All trouble is a ceaseless battle here.

*note: a reference to rock group Nazareth of the 70s, purported to have been one of the loudest bands. Had an album in 1974 entitled Loud ‘N’ Proud