PRODUCTION
on the farm,
perforce, we
put our heads together
everything under the Sun
puts is head together
wheels
set in
motion
as
word speads
and Heraclitus of Miletus
stops by
a number of things
brings to mind
solid argument inclusive: that
all is
twice, thrice,
there is nothing that
is not in process
meanwhile (forgive the inadvertent South African
colloquialism) not
back
at the ranch
but in the heart of Johannesburg
they are staging a production
of Euripides’ The Bacchae
have
already
launched into
the opening scene
which very instant, being
in the audience my
mind
thirsting for
ecstasy
veers towards chaos, entropy,
fractal mathematics
as we suddenly welded into one
sift and exchange
that whole Pandora’s box
of memories and
recollections
whispers and ghosts
the very
incantations that
pull aside the veil, strip
off the veneer
speaking for myself
but
perhaps all
hardly able to wait, kill
that terminal longing,
set eyes
upon the mask
that is
dark Dionysus’ face
poems 2 die for 