Auckland, New Zealand
I have money - I feel important.
I spent it all on food & buses.
Living off the government & so
off the taxpayer (& so off myself)
is easier when I recall
I will be in debt
all my life.
I write verse in Auckland cafes,
watching people & feeling normal.
I buy coffee more & more lately,
I like the cream & chocolate sprinkles
& glossy glowing cups.
When I can I sit outside, the sunlight
or wind births my skin.
So I skip some classes - sometimes
I am tired of trying
to be alive, sometimes darkness & winter
without rain is my curse.
When I am alive I know everyone
in the room, if they see me or not.
Williams' cat & plums pull up a chair
& ghostly hair & wetten their places.
Words can sing, be colourful, be
any kind of art & still be language.
If I live, my skin is open & I see things.
I used to want to be deaf
but that was for the attention.
How could I concentrate on anything
if I had twelve senses?
I would like a lover but this way
Nothing is forced on me.
I would like to be a voyeur of the world,
if I wasn't in it. Right & wrong
are guidelines, a social contract
I signed, but never read the provisos.
I can enjoy a stained glass window
in peace, but if I say
"My aim is pleasure"
armies of guilty voices
inform me of morality, responsibility,
But I ask you, if morality is a pleasure,
happiness is a pleasure &
punishing yourself is a pleasure
(sure a sick one)
are you a hedonist?