1. |
Mural
03:17
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We're just kicking our feet between the organ swells.
Small-talk in corridors.
Log-jam in the entrance. Handshakes from the elders.
Choruses with chords suspended out in the air.
A sad stare hidden in the glare of a pale photo, taped and pinned to the corner of a noticeboard. Sun-bleached missionary June progress report.
Eyes locked on stained-glass art and entries on hymn number boards. Kneeling pads precariously set on the seating bench.
Suddenly get up and leave the service.
Sharp words for Jericho stick in all of us; front to back row.
Eyes glued down to the ground. A square foot of earth could be anywhere.
Sun-bleached missionaries look on from the pin-board frame.
When they're back here again I wonder if they'll feel the same.
Cold shutter doors. All comforting illumination gone.
Tried to catch a glimpse inside, whilst walking back alone, of birthday parties thrown in the gospel hall.
It's worth checking out the roots of these parallels.
We're just kicking our feet between the organ swells.
All comforting illuminations gone.
Tried to catch a glimpse inside through an open fire door.
The mural on the youth club wall in the gospel hall.
(Bright green for the trees)
Too dark was the sand in Daniel's hand.
Too young the company.
Irrespective of the stories told in front of it to sincere cross-legged Christian kids who won't amount to anything.
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2. |
Penning
03:10
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No room on the drive, the pull-in or the cul-de-sac, so double-park the hatchback.
Ten minutes late for scripture union.
In the living room: metal folding pews, some folks we're yet to lose.
Unfamiliar shoes litter the downstairs hallway.
Heads bent round for too long to count roe deer in the hay field west (must've been more than twenty, I guess).
Sunlounge condensate, Autumn 1988, soaks into the soleplate. Late evening.
Parents aren't back yet, and they won't believe the fluorescent bulb explosion was unwarranted.
Glazing damp diffuses the lamp where sodium vapours burn, lit up like a coin return.
The kids at the back just withered away, no kindling to spark a dying faith anyway.
You said you had another dream about the arcade, running around inside those fake 8-bit cut scenes, so hold on tight to your side of the screen.
The alarm on the side of our house was up there twenty years and never once connected.
The kids at the back: good looking, trying, but disaffected.
In the middle of the healing my friend sat down and then she cried.
Might have been the thunderclap outside?
Branch down from cloud to ground and light up the playing field and the mission tent.
They prayed and laid hands, and kissed the American revivalists.
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3. |
Strandline
04:38
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Bleached by dawns, perished on the lawn.
Childhood toys betrayed those scenes displayed where dusk is always warm.
Now mossed-over and cracked and worn.
We're out on the dune slacks, golden hour, waiting for the wind to die down.
Keep it in a north-facing room; the grass from off the sand dunes.
Keeping pace with the boys down in the summer tombs.
Sucking up fumes.
You threw all trust off the edge.
Now you can't hold your breath long enough.
There's no chord that can be played to help her levitate out.
Sam passed out in the arcade, giving her sad coins away.
So tear off the peeling decal; that dated 80's aesthetic.
To derive fake memories from a purple beach front palm.
To derive fake memories from sunset surfboard America.
Keep it in a north-facing room; the grass from off the sand dunes.
Keeping pace with the boys down in the summer tombs.
Sucking up diesel fumes.
You threw all trust off the edge.
Now you can't hold your breath long enough to go in after it, after the fight is over.
Strandlines in a cup's just time sped up; the residue of decades in the aisles. A beachwood fire can't wash away the taste this time.
Jack and Stace went hand-in-hand, then out of phase and cancelled out to the most extraordinary airbrushed sky. Hashing out goodbyes and IC sounds. Stop talking when the kids come around.
Strandlines in a cup's just time sped up; the residue of decades in the aisles.
A beachwood pyre; blackened and assured that you won't go there many more times.
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Lemur Llama Lizard Muriwai, New Zealand
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