Song Of The Dung Beetle


Begin the curve of the world

you become


Stretch and roll out the land

into a little continual womb

on which to dance

and discover


a laughing elasticity

to circumference.


Upside down balance



Legs translate the muttering

of stars effortless touch


Synchronise solar sighs

into straight paths


Do not ask, there is no code

but course, the disembodied voice

of cosmos


Organism sing whole

the scatterings of continent


Dew settle restless into

collective sediment


and let setting sweat




One must mix gravel and grit

in the round gut of a drum

mortal must help shape

the colour brown,


Rib the night with wind

whipped stick, the mixture

will soon sit quick – smooth

the roof over our cool dark pit,

plaster the dome walls and still the heat –

a gourd – this hut of skin, flesh and/organ

will wrinkle and crack in umbels of light,


peaking its head like a worm

does the splits, we drift

and move along as morning, learn

the soft turbulence of soil, become

the tuberous fold of the world’s home


Rolling and tumbling

tumbling and rolling

loosen like surf


Journey man – Journey bug – Nomad

and astronomer, carry what you cannot

and unravel unstable as song

the remainders of the longest beyond


Rolling and tumbling


tumbling and rolling


travel like surf


You passage of earth



Termites furrow and tunnel

blindly woven webs, networks

branch underground


The mound becomes

a mountain

and rain returns us

back to the ground



Go around,


Disturb the Ant lion

and fall into its curse

collapse curvature

and wall in

on itself


let the circle

get caught – open



Sun sunk and gone

sun sunk and gone a’

runnin n a’ jumpin – archin’

like a blue striped marlin


parts water to come back –


a boomerang ping-ponging

in action.


Shit son,

sun don’t know how to act


It’s a scab, a shell

a flesh-

less cuttlefish. Washed

up urchin orb

drawing into the shore


The law of tomorrow


crawl out. Glance


Have no choice

but to leave your body there


and start the dance again


The turning tide will bring

away the incessance

of daylight

Towards A Metaphysician’s Paradise


O atomless ancestor, unending

gesture of genesis

you action

that descends doubtless

upon the highest heaven


you chance

of enlightenment

and silence – all-at-once-

plunge of nothingness


you rest in loudest tempest

and acrobat of expansion, dwell-

er of becoming


lay your way in waves

your wake is a snake

laid in layers of waking


disentangle and form, you

figureless symbol, unhinge,

blind opening of angle,


you alchemical throw that turns

the skimming stone into an archipelago,

drums and lips, spills and distinguishes

this pellucid metamorphosis


yes you, residuum of creation

must be heard in imagination

the blossoming frond

and the tendril that curls,


the purr of wave and waterfall,

the dreamtime you arise behind


you astronaut of the ocean

and submarine of sky,

you sea of sun and mountain

of clustered vapour,


you alembic angel, condensing

sensation of dispersal, essential



resolve, you shy – interjecting phenomenon


lonely listener in the midday anemone

of moon, interloper, here welcome

to answer the needless ticking

of speech and indecision


oh, you ongoing project-

ion of the poem, motion after which I

fumble for – the onward roll

of afternoon


toward possible


and the getting there

of nightfall coming

together a-



The answer


always forming

Footholds and Soles


                 We walk in footsteps we have never owned

dance in gestures of the animal who awakens us


amorphous – within the stone we hold


We were born old

in the knowhow of the baobab


We saw the mangroves

as their shadows wore holes

in our body


Aunty ocean told us

this was soul


before it came to be



it poured us in petrichor-

the smell of once was


whose nearness still

lingers here – there


restless familiar

as dust and chance

wake the absurd





There was a colobus, long

lost but passed before us – outstretched

in the palm of the afterwards


we asked her about otherness

and she burst outwards in

arcs of laughter


is that enough for you, if not, where to?



Marabous stalk somnambulant, beyond

the where-from of the oncoming

horizon, a chorus of slurred consonants

thrum-throng and call to us

swarmed within the wind, sweeping

up our tonsils, we hear a tickle

creep through – out inside


the opening O of vocal

spontaneous   call-of-the-owl

pulses life into the gulf

of our tired vowels




The elephant’s little cousin

shrieks a little louder

than you could believe


crescendoing and

slowing pure in-



spirit reaching full

for pitch


tearing to construct

and surpass its own

echo –


let go


little Pimbi, grow.



The Octopus knows

the color of before,

head of water

like yours was air


He spoke of a chameleon, who

blinked in his inward blink,


a wisdom older than thinking


a riddle to leave us there

nowhere but aware:



                  pierce your skin as it wrinkles 

                  in a rhythm of ghosts, those 

                 animate willings – touch and listens 

                  are vision,


                  see, you stubborn goat


                  you are

                  the hum the

                                      sum humming sun-


                                                                                   the answer to the conundrum

                                                                                   the hum-anima/l




                  the world is a walkabout, if but                           

                  an oyster          an odd choice 

                  of your words 


                 language is but land, sand and and 


The trail of voice

tailing inseparable

from yours


To listen to the earth

is at once the comfort

of being –




Rolling Stone

Rolling Stone



If you skim a stone over the rolling ocean

and watch it pour long into the horizon

it will smooth onto your palm

the tropic Capricorn


If you skip a seed along the ever same ocean

to watch it grow in another land, a home

for the birds and bees, pollinators

of your memories


Will you still keep throwing

seed after stone, stone after seed

until fluidity leaps from its lips


and it, itself, flickers in speech


begins beginning its own riddle of rhythm

blissfully waking ripples

with the nimble feet of a flying fish

skilfully dipping and teasing the surface,

freeing the ceiling, singing with

the wind over the reef –

nothing is ever complete


Laughter, laughter, further and further

everywhere the expanse expanded bouncing

bounded outward and un-encompassed

from its birth-pod of cloud

and ocean the cosmos

of sound and gas


Until the laughter did burst the rupture

reverberating all around, soft and loud


and mirth emerged in one lasting dance


And you, reaching all distance

kept this feeling kindled

inside of a miniature heartbeat






I shed a stone that iterated infinitesimal,

a note skidding headlong into another kingdom

where every door lay ajar, and every path


fed the avalanche of sun


An iridescent pebble that grew to song

before it knew I was gone

to sky to dream

a loophole in the dream


The largest part of small

becoming a hum


like I became the stone





Delusions of the written form


We are always wanting

to be


that little something




Always turning

and in turning

turning from


I guess this is thought


walking forwards, towards

the hope of horizon but

sloping back down the walls

of a circle, reaching for

the abyss Freedom

and coming up short


distraction, distraction


bottle, action or

drug of choice


attaching fulfilment

to the finite

body, love, will

or even

these paltry words


ringing in my head ‘don’t

don’t – O do, you



we sing and dance, mask

ourselves and perform


but who for if not the truth

of self?


We aim for this that and the other,

make lists and twist ourselves in delirium

and oh always this or that other we come

to miss


is this existence.



Can I say something?


what happens when then becomes

another then,

then then becomes no more

more and more the course


must reach all


and before you know

we are old, mute

and reborn


but are you so sure?


At what point does discovery turn to ruin

Surely we either become nihilists or

we remember

to bloom


Life may never reach its goal

its only purpose is to be self-curious

only then we may enjoy

and truly discover universes



You should not listen to me,

I am only still learning

And you are still only your own force



Turn and evolve

this oh so insatiable motion

inwards, revert the current

condition, compulsion in-

to consciousness – song-

bird swallow ocean, comfort

your beaky bones, the water

slows, holds before and

beyond the shore

you are already

already born-all



Let ego



and fall


do not blame it

but observe yourself

how the shadow

can no longer pour

into something



The eye, now so hollow,

bald and dormant

will journey, sponge

and blend rawness



a longing will



the storm


morning will spread, lend

the socket

its vision, O

lost volition


oh who am I, what is place

what is circumference

if not space


and what of today


no more


than a mote, a cell

a magnificent emerging for us

once more to soak in up




Fill the

reality of this orb,

ye old namesake of sensation


yes shed and shake snakeskin

voyage, voyage, journey down voice

all the way up the angles and chords of

your own throat



until there is nothing left

between it and dream or

this belief of the imagination      imagined things      ideology


nothing to separate life

from the poem


yes commence,

eye said the I will open


the echo will sound

its source



One must only know the process

of nature’s invocation

and respond


to this oldest liberation


The unknowing cure

that germinates shapeless

as breath

at your forgotten



In the stillness of a river

I have sat and dwelled

three lifetimes or more,

I cannot tell.

Witnessing the world

pour-me over

In a silence

I could not spell


I was a pebble, stirring

and swelling the constant

shed of depth


floating all along the cosmos

in the smallest of songs


I was the aura

of what one cannot be

quiet sure of, a nebula

of ocean


you see

I was both at once and


once, once more


I was the source


no longer man,

nor woman

nor god, but





of all





a humming puddle

of dilating nothing


I had wet the stone

and dried the water

tasted the salt and


thirsted no more


I awoke

with each moment

until bursting we over-

turned the stone


an empty shell

laughed and


cracked open


out of absence

flourished a forest


i was lost

there was no knowledge


there was no focus


a turtle was born