easter

friday: waiting for chocolate and jesus to die

they're here

can you see em? they're here…

in the thick black bold wide font, they're here
there's full page evidence of this in the typeface
and yet jesus appears here too in this gale
in hazy grains of this ancient jetty timber
the groaning weight of 78
exquisite scarves rotting at the beaches
this uniform is a navy blue shopping spree
a basket full of eggs and pizza and chips

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

i can taste the silver salt of christ on my mind
on my chocolate shapes at this time
and at these rocky atolls
they sharp tack at the back of beached reefs
and the remnant moorings, the trolleys
wasted in christmas wrapper heat
a gift of fear in empty carparks

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

theyre here - these kids of kids, these terrorists
this pack of subliminal dissidents in the torchlight
this black candle wax drips thru my fingers
burning their rusty clothed distractions
as the hailstones hit the cliffs
the subtle punch from the hack
as the paper screams
theyre here theyre here theyre here

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

we sell them at the ends of streets
as they huddle like dog-whistlers
speaking the troubles thru munted verses
and bastard melody
like chiddy-chiddy calls in the early sun
these beams cast streaks on staccato rabbits
headed back to tunnels, this my dirt, my bitumen,
my multiplex - 27 stories, bending light like discrete, indivisible units of energy
unless these kids are invisible
quite like the hopeless peace we chant
unachievable unachievable unachievable

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

theyre here theyre here theyre here
in the backyards of lawn and renovation
we count the coins in bonded isolation
in the deserts we gather to tear at fences no more
these islands written by keys
these sandcastles melt of irrational fear of the other
and another hasty sentence punctuated
with race hate noise

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

them - they - they are they
they are here - they are here
they're here - they're here - they're here

and we struggle…