P’hore

In the darkness, they are waiting

those thoughts

Cycles and rhythms

Tether that has reached its end

Reaper of the sameness

They are full of mindless fury

each day to fight and fight again

For what?

To fight again

This pointless samsara

I am but a performance

Combined of the thousands of deaths

I became the end

They are still waiting

Anticipation for a long war

Rampant growth and angers

I get up and fight again

I cannot be killed

flames lick me

Lava falls upon my shadows

Stars exploding from my depression

Paths close

it will be again that this happens

The purity of that again

I fight against

Which just adds to it

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Uncomfortable history as a source, and of its addition to the pancake stack

Our uncomfortable history

Little drips of it come out

From this pancake stack some seem to want to approve of

Just plain pancakes they want and will send it back

But no matter

The chef tried to do their best

Tried to scrape it again

Mix it through twinges of pains

Lest, we forget that the place is not what we know

Replace the chef

Serve the pancakes again

Uncomfortable history first tries to drip

But can’t

The pancakes taste so plain

No one, questions if the source can ever be made again

Cuttlefish’s eyes, gardeners surprise

Authors note: Inspired by Mills, Jennifer (2018) swimming with aliens, in Overland, issue 230, Autumn 2018

Cuttlefish turn on their colorful display

On and off from my place in this sea

We follow them in this little cove

Are you a eye of truth or a eye that sees the truth?

I’m a intruder, a non cuttlefish

You are not unwelcome, for now

Do we save you with a referendum? Is that how we humans decide things now?

This is my favorite stone to hide under

Our collective energy feeds into your ocean, are you doing ok?

it’s getting too hot for us

I am sorry this is all our fault