Blackbirds will arrive soon to nibble on the ivy in our backyard.
An ivy seed pod is structured like an explosion. i always fancied em, even before i fitted them into their name, Araliaceae. A fairy and i once used them as birthday candles on a cake for an elf. Hedera helix sounds like your mind’s vines.
Last year we cut the ivy hard: found light, and an old fence. This years growth is better behaved. The cut stumps gape like necks. you want to scribble teeth on their cambium.
The twisted trunks of dead brothers hold the ground. If we shift these old macrocarpas, the land beneath will collapse. I have visions of the neighbours house being swallowed into dust and rubble.
Dead tree anchors are tentacles slowly becoming dirt.
i open mind, squint eyes, try to feel the small lives sucking and chasing in a thick soup about the roots. it’s like switching on night vision. Protozoa pacman is happening fast down there. bacteria zen, nematode nirvana. They die and live.
If death is life, is life dead? i slosh that round inside my head.
Samsara’s spinning fast.
A rock is the quintessential non-conscious being, but i aint convinced. Look at that smooth stone, flush against the garden’s edge! It’s molecules exist like yours and mine. Surely it breathes like skin. It ghosts the yellow bank with its hue.
Certainly it’s alive.
Climbing curcubits, twined on ivy, tumbling into tropeaolum. Halfway up a grey sleeper the three meet, and pay no mind. On they arch and drop.
The blooms of a scarlet sage are the breeziest temples in the yard. They reach for God. But the goddess is laughing, because she’s hiding in their anthers.
A breeze draws her bow through the clothesline.
The clothesline’s never heard all the eerie things that happen next to it. Or are Angry the hen and Ben the metal whirligig wise companions after all?
Personification is anthroprojection.
That clothesline’s been turning in the wind real slow.
I’m through the window, watching outside things turn to silhouettes. They are losing a dimension, and taking on another.
For some reason i remember someone chuckle… playing with the void…
Now i remember the nature of the exploding ivy seeds. They are continuous. Life doesn’t end in a bird’s gullet.
The big bang is an explosion too.
A cabbage tree’s leaves twitch, butterflykissing the sky.
The sun is tender as it drops away,
goodbye darling maya, see you in the day i bring tomorrow
and beyond on the hill porch lights begin to shine like beacons
we are here brothers and sisters
We are engulfing particulates, we matter as part of this art, swollen and hollow, we are both, part of this that we engulf.
Bevan plucked a stick from the ground and knew of aeons.
The bird plucks the aeons off the ivy and flies into the void.
