14 October, 2012
(The Missing) subtle creatures, without face sparked with life, from spirit fed assemblaged to live to set foot, another world filaments of hope, destroyed by necessity or fate unfinished form function loss or tech trashed no slide, to light no entry, to mortality no shock, to breath no life, to live, as to live no feeling, the grass under the toes no warming, the sun on the skin no loving, the spirit of a third no channelling, the energy for their world
The Bold Thinker Bold head, high, looking at you then tilted, offside to one o’clock feeling Bold he sits, there not just anywhere sitting, there on that spot waiting Bold he sits waiting, for you, searching, in his mind, for something, to happen to be said thinking Bold he sits and thinks of what could be said or be done of what you think of what you feel quietly Dedicated to Fred
The Māorist pauses, contemplates The building, empty, near bomb blasted, Glassless, eyeless, majestic Germanic brickwork, soviet design Stretching far, on grounds, granit stoned, loveingly laid, for russian cans of death, tracks of steel The Māorist, plastic bagged weapons, in hand, walks Quiet, alone, Hissing of sommer cars, everywhere The concrete steps, bushes overgrown, Trees, in roof, lost from earth The Māorist going further, up steps, climbing Glass splitters, under rubber, crackling, Sound sharp, splitting crisp iced snow, Doors, half hanging, other trodden on floor Strength long lost Feeling of sadness, emptyness Longing, strong, for livelier days
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