God … the ultimate Artist The supreme Scientist The intimate presence within and throughout this existence Regenesis … poetry in motion Is she masculine or is he feminine? Is the answer beyond our understanding? Are we just avatars in a game of actual reality Is this life an artistic documentary viewed through all the agony and the ecstasy the triumph and the tragedy? Have we truly been given a free hand by the Artisan Grand upon the canvas of eternity?
Or are we just rats in a laboratory? A collection of quarks traversing the dark? Mere particles within the part and parcel of subatomic intricacy? An infinitesimal spark in a dimension mechanical? Speaking of relativity where is the power and the glory? A perpetual quantum crunching the numbers in some mindless continuum Is that the universal story?
On the banks of the Thames beyond the doors of the Tate glimpsed through the haze of a London heatwave the Post-Modernist of Fate painting it all black whilst trying hard to forget his brushstrokes of regret
As a naïve teenager a youth of pure innocence I was ruthlessly seduced by a mysterious Grecian lover who’s pagan charms were impossible to resist Was it the insatiable desire of a reckless Aphrodite that so graciously nearly killed me with her all consuming divinity? Or was it the passive aggression of Athena that turned a carefree choir boy into a reprobate man? I truly don’t know . . . but for just one heart pounding millennium she touched me deeply with her nefarious wisdom . . .
“Hard up against the impetuous of an Olympian Goddess, there will be no winning for any mere human. So take what is given while you can, and do your best to make Eros jealous!”
Perhaps it was too much
for the Sindicate to accept
such a substantial loss
they put out
a 24 hour contract
on poor Leon
their number one suspect
Goons with prison haircuts
packing serious heat
under ponchos and anoraks
were scouring the streets
The contradiction within creation a perpetual balancing act with the disharmony of destruction That spark of oblivion as sharp as a knife From every dimension in every direction a never ending question Salvador Dali whispering . . . “Everything that is contradictory creates life.” Conformity is death Imperfection breeding strife
For the children of a grand delusion who never stopped dreaming For those hurting through all the loving and the loathing who fell chasing their own tail like a sacrificial offering to a reflection glistening four sheets to the wind and under the full sail of a fevered imagination