Panic
We begin in
discord
in the poem
of the goat-footed god
Pan
of panic
and
pandemic
But then I
promise to breathe again
only when I remove
my self as the obstacle that became me
So
Walk
Don’t walk!
Fuck
Don’t fuck!
Panic
Don’t
panic!
Our rule is
you’ll never know
when you’re
following rules and when you’re not.
You’re a
child of diversity
enslaved to
uncertainty.
You were
given gods as you were given empires
that make
and break the rules.
You were
left playing in the garden
when that
horror began.
Look
Don’t look!
You look like a random
child who wouldn’t exist without war
without end
without the
breath of labour
and the
final breath
I am the
fright
and the
trip you didn’t see
as you were
walking backwards
not walking
not fucking
The rule is
panic
and nomadic
And someone
called and I heard no echo
but heard
all about the panic spread by
miasmas, clouds and black holes
and I loved
you more than any virus
more than
the ways and byways
that led
you to me
before all
signs were pointed in wrong directions
before the
twisting of reinforcing
before grounds
were made immaterial
reimagined
while no one was looking
I said that
if you can you must
and yet you
cannot
you deliver
nothing
but doom
and blackmail
with a smile.
The world
is the image in the mind of its being
The
pantheist in you is not grasping that pandemic
and
panic
that
peoples all your minds.
Flower shop
That involuted orchid
opens out to be
its own question
and proffers its own beginning
Buy back the terror
of the touching fingertips
of young tulips
that regard only themselves
Never ask the roses
what they really want
Never choose them
nor be pricked into actions
the end of which
is not in sight
One rose, then, for my endless love
I saw you in a forest
just as a welcome shower of rain began
I couldn’t tell how it was
that you moved like that
between the growing trees
with such animal limbs
Could someone tutor me?
The graces of your soul
translate to gestures
and the gentle way your hand
may have touched
How little do I understand?
The forest gives way to a garden
that you overlook
fresh in gumboots
Your mind is fully at play
the earth gives softly beneath your feet
Could the thought be more vivid?
But just in case you didn’t see
the slip of paper
nailed to your tree
What on earth could it say?
The crude and beautiful word or
not a word nor even art
but just a childish doodle
a drawing of the heart
Let’s wander
The park has no gate
and so it asks us for nothing
The lawn spreads away behind us
but there’s no sign to tell where we were
Life like this is an unmarked surface
on which we cannot help but stand
on a trail of pretexts
And when we part
one of us will be the lesser
found lurking here wondering
For all we speak no one will hear
the words we came to say
We will’ve forgotten the softness of skin
the brownness of our eyes
and the temper of the day
Branded darkly
there’s the question-mark on the surface
and in our tone of voice
Did I hear thee well then
murmuring this conversation’s closed?
The park admits all comers
but the lawn admits no answers
A lesson, then, on College Hill
Learn about what a body can do
what cannot be put to paper or to flame
and when to empty the mind like a bin
When full daylight barely lights the Way
there are too many objects
When all possibilities
will have been
recollected
comprehended
realised and
half forgotten
then
and only then
may the universe sigh
and once again contract
Panic
Love
Don’t love!
Breathe
Don’t breathe!
Think
Don’t think!
There’s a growth on your thoughts
as it spins from your gut
gets twisted and knotted thoughts out
unknotted
We are tied for love
and bodies know what occurs next
as they cannot help but breathe
that birth breath
as if each breath
even their last
were a rebirth.
It’s motion that muddies the water
But stillness clarifies the soul
What you think your soul is
becomes your next cry
as the mind’s in struggle
and every breath’s an effort
or a push against the weight of others
lasting till failure
To decide who will write whose epitaph
and fret about it no more
means to go where the breath is
the only thing left to attend to
without division
It’s a tender and pliant baby thought
a sensation of rain on a sweaty body
and an unknown lady who smiled
or the heart reaching through the earth
for someone in distress
a force of silence
an end of waiting
for nothing but
this birth breath
For Frankie Chu
September 2023