Hexit

Sorry: Not Sorry

Blue-hot, white-deep, naked shards of star-life shoot double, warm-exploding my heart into orange after-glow. Gypsy oil-dark desire droplet tears fall-sing of ancestral-spirit universes dance-converging in mid-air over a plate of fish and chips.
    Secret lips unleash whisper darts of lion-hearted, bull-strength elysium. Four bidden astral kisses roar pacific waves into wild splashes of love-fuck sea-spray.

    Splash-back maelstrom-jealous, fuckyou axes are thrown. Sorry, not sorry, but Fuck You ego-spider-web thick-obscuring eternal-sun. Wield truth-sharp blades, set to swiftly sail mizzen-mantras and Arunachala-jibs….

Storm

Below deck a rudderless sea of months runs free as a howling wind. I hear the watchman has given up the captain-search and is digging into the canape stash. He falls asleep and dreams of kingdoms turning to sand - castles high and wide as imagination soars disappear. Arrow-slit eternity views crumble and horizon-spanning moats sink.

Solid Cold

Then a bang, dry land - wakes to a dull sea-blue spirit spinning depression-yarns beneath abused, abusively grey-blue eyes. Sad-wool sweaters ensnare partners, wives, sons, and deep-sea lovers. Trodden spirit, treading dark waters, how long till you call for the life-ring? If you drown - pull them under will you? 
    Dipped and gazing into the lake-murk, when from behind my heart was past-shoved - I fell in. With almost water-logged lungs I saw the shining box of treasure. Too heavy to lift from the bed myself, I called for God each night to lend me a hand.

That puppet-rope tightening, sail-setting, wheel-turning, string-plucking hand. That with me dark water clawing hand, as trinkets shine, falling from the heavy wood, soon to be… 

Hexit

Now. 

Deep Breath. Senses. Sound. An ancient coin - home is not a place but the luminosity whose play of light makes us seem real.