Cock-of-the-north

Cock-of-the-North

this is it.
this is your end,
an ounce of coke,
a bag of pills,
another three day bend.

(it seems so pointless now to try and keep the score, I know
I'll hear it all again and each telling will add some more, so
let's just say that ketamin, a battlefield and equine
anaesthetic, was amongst your favourites as a universal
therapeutic,)

"complete dissociation.."
you once told me,
"..there's nothing like an O.B.E?to put it in perspective."

And perspective was your art.
You travelled that high arc, Helios in chains, from birth to
untimely death, (or so you'd have us think)
Even in your childhood snaps there's a shadow
'round your eyes, from trying not to blink,

Or fall asleep and lose your footing
from that watchers' rainbow. Can't you see?
I wanted us to reach its' apogee, longed for our vision to
agree.
But all I have is one picture,
You on Kerala's sand?soul singing under Kundalini's hand?

?there you are.
Bodhisattva,
there you are, between
sand and sea, between
heaven and earth, between
life and death, between
now and eternity.

There, in your womb,
Time's arrow has
Turned
Upon itself.
And you watch,

The Eye of Creation?

Now, on the Camden Road,
The traffic rolls along.
Buses, taxis, trucks and cars,
Push-bikes and pedestrians
All
Unaware
That in less time than the
Blinking of an eye,
In that space between
Thought and consciousness
Between the electron and the brain,
The cosmos waits on me.
Waits
for the seed,
That breath of life,
The all creating Om?

In that immeasurable eternity,
I pause
to wipe
my spittle
from the corner of your mouth
and press my lips to yours,
tight.
An airtight seal.
The lover's final kiss

I feel the coldness of
Your skin
taste
sweet
sweat
and
God I wish,
I wish,

I...

Locked in every atom
Is the memory of beginning.
Somewhere in atomic
and the sub-atomic,
Somewhere
In quark's fuzziness
Is the blueprint of creation,
Kether,
That map of thought
Which traces matter
To its immaterial crown?
?I see that now,

Laid out around me
Through me
Out and
Down.
That web of being
Linking all to all?

Inspiration?
So, on Tepheret I call
And cup your chin
Gently in my hand
Then let my fingers trace the contours of
Your neck
Under
To the arch between head
And shoulder,
Seat of Atlas.
Again my lips press close to yours
My tongue curls behind my teeth
My eyes clench tight
My soul becomes my breath?
And God I wish
I wish?
I?

?cried like a baby
In the chapel of rest
And although they'd tried their best
They'd left the bruises
On your face?
Skin rubbed raw
Where rougher hands than mine
Had pressed.
Then, bug like, pinned
in the arc-lamp's glare,
I made to recall
Just what you had done,
"ketamin, coke and trips and pills and? smack,
and jesus fucking christ that's not all
a bottle of Dom Perignon?"

(it seems so pointless now to try and keep the score, I know
you'd do it all again and each time you'd want some more,
so let's just say that isolation, dark and dangerous
anaesthetic, was amongst your favourites as a universal
therapeutic,)

"complete annihilation?"
you would say,
"?there's nothing like a D.O.A?to put it in perspective."

And whose perspective now?
As I tread that bitter path between family and friends,
Each one my Nemesis (or so they'd have me think).
Even in the sunlight there's a shadow
'round my heart from trying hard to blink

away the tears and not lose my self
amongst the vengeful mourners throng. Can't you see?
You should be here with me, I knew our vision would agree.
But all I have is one picture
You, naked on the floor, and insistent calling from the door?

there you are.
Abel,
There you are, between
Sleep and waking, between
Light and dark, between
man and woman, between
me and the world.