Tasmanian Times

Poetry

Desire …

Time

Darl,
Lovely to hear from you,

I have,
To say,

My folly,
Is not a Holly,

It has been now,
Some 18

Years,
Since,

I embarked on this,
Wondrous

Exploration
Of later

Older
Bliss,

Do not eschew
It is a myth,

That older chaps,
Turn outwards,

Into morphs
Of dwarfs

Of wonder creatures,
Timeless,

But,
In spite of

My Kwaka 900,
My Kwaka 1100,

My bruny ultras,
I too,

Will die,
Aint life strange,

And …
Wondrous

!x

Desire

My dear Rebecca,
You are a wrecker,

Of my best
Intentions,

A soul destroyer?
An innocent bystander?

Yes!
You are ..

You exist!
You are

By,
Your very nature,

Desired,
The way …

The first piece of toast,
Finnen,

Of course,
But, not because

Of that lover,
Long cherished,

Because she celebrated
My, and her, animality,

Never!
Rebecca,

Forget,
Or diminish,

Or
Suppress,

Your animality,
You are

An Animal!
Party,

Animal!
So there.

Exclamation
Mark!

But,
To that piece of toast,

You know
The way you

Crunch,
That first

Delicious
Munch,

Of complex,
Simple,

Taken for granted,
Arrangement

Of grains.
I think

You know,
How that,

Joy,
Yes, Joy…

Of tactile
Encounter

Can
Mount,

An
Argument

Of insidious intent,

As Eliot
Said:

Oh do not ask what is it
Let us go and make our visit.

This,
My dear Rebecca,

Is too,
Convoluted,

I have to say,
I’m late,

For more,
Evans and Tate,

A breakfast champagne
Quaffer,

My dear,
It causes me

To drink,
I am,

A dissolute,
Carbon sink,

But,
Ever so truly,

At least,
Not least,

I think!x

Earlier, Desire…

Hi Digger,

If Burke,
Had noted,
Had wondered,
Had pondered

Had reached within,
And quested,
Had read,
Digested, his,

Internal map,
A signal
From his
Psyche,

He would not now,
Then,
Be,
Lying

To himself,
Legs akimbo,
His throat
A razer,

Dying.

Rebecca,
Intoxicating
Rebecca,
Her mind

Wonders,
She ponders,
She thinks,
She drinks,

In,
The wisdom
Of those ages,
Those sages

She knows,
Intuitively it seems,
There’s more,
There’s,

Mystery,
And wonder,
Uncertainty,
Doubt

Recognition,
Her own
Cognition,
That,

There is more
So much more

*A little doggerel, a reflection on Burke of Burke and Wills, the Dig Tree and its relationship to philosophy, written in hazy reflection, and in a synapse-startled state after spending moments intoxicated, not so much by the Two Hands of god (wine and the beauty and wonder of womankind, it has been said, are two proofs of the existence of god) but by Rebecca …

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