fortuitous circumstances, barriers to progress elimated
vast paradises. leopards prowl past white walls.
palm shadow on white walls. shadow plays.
vegetable forms reaching and trembling.
leopards in and out of the shadow.
shadowed gold.
in the eyes of satelittes.
enclosed in
the sodium walls.

Brute peacocks strut along coridoors
marble. beaten gold. firelight. barbaric luxury.
indolent kings slumped on their thrones,
massed ungulates
hoofprints in soft mud
plum blossom on wet asphalt
Plaistow in grey morning
river mist. mud. sunlight, weak as piss
dribbling through cloud sheet.

Roman legions trudging through mud
police sirens ripping the air
cigar-chomping railway barons
pince-nez wearing homosexuals embrace in the daffodils
quote whitman
declamatory in the flower-beds
in earshot of curious squirrels,
who cock tiny heads, paws raised to chin,
amongst the oak roots.
Peacocks in barbaric coridoors.
in fervour of new begininngs
in the release of hoarded energy.
nova light. eclipsed stars.
space on fire. deep space. white fire.
variegated finches. in lattice of birdsong.
in thrumming web of birdsong

Norman soldiers trudging through mud.
radiance.raindance.
wolves rifle through rubbish bins
in the backstreets
behind the cafes and the restauraunts
forest to city-city to forest.
the smirking insinuations of marigolds
and the plants in the gardens, so orderly
so decorative
are simply biding their time.
roots buckle the ashphalt
creepers curtain the windows
darken the drawing rooms.
tanks in the petrol station forecourts
buisness school graduates tumble in the ornamental fountains.
remove trousers, bellow.

delirious captives
press the pleasure button!
press the pleasure button! again! again!
sea turning. frothing, roiling. Tumultuous, green-backed, white-fingered god.
Twisting, turning as if in chains, beating against the walls of the cell.

chained god thrashing.

And the tribes spread out and came to populate every corner of the broad earth.
And dwelled in isolation, each tribe in its own region, until physiques and features changed, in submission to new enviroments.
Landscape, weather patterns, food sources...
Expansion. The explosion. Particles propelled outward. Energy expanding outward.
Fragmentation. Difference. The unfolded flower. Fireworks.
Frog ripples on pond surface.
The out-breath.
And now,
Contraction.
Unison. The bud. The acorn.
The tribes are reconvened. The old languages are forgotten.
The old songs are forgotten. The old dances are forgotten.
taboos. rules. roles. customs. observances.
the thousands of tiny patterns are caught up by and integrated in the larger pattern.
Mass extinction. Landscape is homogenised. Climate shifts. The specialist is driven out by the generalist.
The scavengers and squatters.
New eco-systems are forged. New rivalries. Monopolies are broken up. Rulers are toppled. New monoplies are formed.
New rulers look out over the land.
Contraction.
The in-breath.

pleasure button. pleasure button. pleasure button. pleasure button.
accept the reality.
the options are really quite limited.
gyre and gimble.
each living the others death.

Lucid transformations, harking back to earlier times of tangible angels, pellucid sun gods, children, laughter and arching rainbows.
Sun-bursts and cloud-bursts, giddy-hearted, while running through the long grass, joy siezes us, rain and sun intermingled.

Vision becoming more intense as it slows, seeping gradually into the skull-dark, like day's first sun, reaching over the hills to light the valley.
light spreading outwards, the moment expanding, containing ever more within itself, stretching in all directions and dimensions.

Flowers laughing, grass laughing, children playing in the laughing grass
the sun smiles benevolently, its light mellow and golden.

Are we to be expelled from these sweet meadows in perpetuity? Even now the memories seem close enough to touch, can almost feel the air there-
its gentleness, its sun-warmth, its sprightly youth.

How did our limbs become so heavy? When did our thoughts grow so ponderous, our preoccupations so petty?
How did this come to pass? It is springtime still, the branches are supple and the leaf is green.
Only inattention, be it distractedness or wilfull blindness, can convince us that winter has come and that the sap has ceased to flow.

Your heart is a bud set to burst, your mind a flower, opening to greet the sun. And you never left the meadow and the laughing of its grass, though in your mind you conquered mountains and crossed the raging seas, charted icy wastes and begged for change in friendless cities. Wandered alone in empty deserts where the white sun burned your skin, crawled and hacked through sultry jungle where snakes and leopards lurk. Saw fantastic monsters and wonders too numerous to name, marvels both man-hewn and natural. Cities carved from mountain tops, temples of shining light, trees tall enough to touch heaven.

Lived among tribes with strange customs and of strange appearance, and learned their ways,
became indistinguisble with them and forgot your homeland.
Your face hidden beneath their tribal masks.
You jealously guard your status among the tribe. You brandish your spear. You hold yourself very erect and affect a stern experssion.
You imagine yourself very imperious.
You think you can never come back to the meadow.
What does the meadow know of power, of influence and the customs of strange tribes?
What does the meadow know of intrigue, manipulation and deceit?
Of brute force or brutal cunning? Of violence greed betrayal?
Of all the small meanesses and dishonesties of thought, hypocrasies and double standards,
cruel, spiteful thoughts, thoughts of censure, thoughts of scorn, mockery, the pinched, mean mind, the vindictive mind, the spiteful mind.
What does the meadow know of indolence, of idleness, of joyless self-indulgence, of lassitiude and inertia?