GALLERY 45
We didn't walk in
to view the works of Ralph Hotere
we swept in
snapped up the obligatory
wines and drink to
his stencilled words
scratched on cardboard &
bits of wood.
The crowd didn't
shift. They packed
the hollowed hot spots
the squashed flat walls.
One second I was
staring into a beard
another the big red lips
of a furry female
another at a white glacial
valley scoured out
between a fashionable
tub of tits.
By 8pm
you were explaining to me
why we all see what
we want to see what
appears to be a cow in a paddock
might really be
a dirty old man
pissing into a sizeable
pot plant in a corner.
On the footpath two kids
binoculared against the window
peered in as if counting
the contents of an aquarium
stuffed full of fish.
You blew them bubbles
rather than kisses
& while I was distracted
by the beautiful shape
of an ear close to my nose
a body-gelled chap
slipped between us
through a door
we're convinced wasn't there.
THE INQUISITORS
He¹s in this chair
for no other reason
than to be questioned
by men who look and smell
suitably religious
as to turn him into a figure
worthy of purgation.
They prise from him (as if
pulling out his tongue)
the confession they want -
that on the 4 November 2002
he climbed the highest
sand dune on the beach
took off his clothes
opened his arms and legs
and performed an indecent
act upon the earth.
~
In the Esplanade
I watch him being chained
to a merry-go-round
'for the salvation of his soul'
then screwed and bolted
into position.
~
Everyday children
will ride him to death
parents carve their names
deep into his skin
and when I'm told
I'll get rid of him
for the next touched freak -
a chap who took to his wife
with an axe
and she wasn't looking
when darkness struck.
POEM
There's a thump
in the sun¹s behaviour.
I feel it through
the window
a brutal
light.
I remain foetalised
on the floor
waiting for you
to haul me outside
to walk through
the night's gut
for as long as it
takes.
I won't hold
your hand
can¹t stand
that stuff.
In this room
curled up
like a dog
wet nose to arse
I know of a man
who lives by the sea
he never reads a paper
doesn't have a radio
a tv a car
hates talking.
He lives alone
like me
but I have the sun
scratching on my roof
the door is just
out of reach
and you won't
come.
PUBLIC HOLIDAY NUMBER ONE
Dust bursts from grass. The
band dread-locked from head
to crotch
pushes the tempo. I'm
dancing with you
because it seems to be
what people do
when I look at them
summering to a hot
amplified tune
because today is Public
Holiday Number One
and I'm a young Al Capone
and you¹re my beautiful moll
and if I could
I'd ask that big Maori fella
to help us plant
a Paradise flower
in every garden. We'd
do it together to
get it done more quickly
before the dogs move in
to water them
because it doesn't take much
to kill off this dazzling
once-a-year display
of golden florescence
or this muscle of music
pumping electricity
into a hot incoherent vernacular.
THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT
It's hot. I lie on top of the bed
hoping you will pull me through
the snow so that I can slide
face down into your lap.
DIGGING IN
In the cold
you dig your nails
across my nerves
dig your tongue
into my head. I
wrap you close
to my breath.
**
On this hill
people sunbathe
in their houses
while their gardens
look after themselves.
***
In the rain
windswept lovers
listen to winter
tapping at windows.
****
You go in a hurry
jumping white holes
in the night.
*****
If I promise to turn
on the rain again
press h for hail
restore the wind
will you come back
tomorrow?
******
stick your warmth
to my lips dig
into me like a
creeper
entangle yourself
*******
until the summer?
MR & MRS MOZART
Like last Saturday
and the one before
I walk the beaten tracks
of my rooms.
I don¹t miss much. I
can see from here
a fishing boat
stuck in mud
footprints left behind
going out to sea
shadows bogged down
in the sludge
of the estuary.
You arrive and
the Seventh Day Adventists are
hanging from tree-tops.
It¹s cold all right
praying on branches
and being religious.
You suggest
dancing something light
and fantastic.
We do. We dance in circles
around the house
through hollow rooms.
Tomorrow we¹ll light a fire
find the appropriate music
dance like Mr and
Mrs Mozart
and watch the saved
falling from trees.
