love-mad bees

I am pit deep in circulating fire an insignificant tenant in a cave of rouge hum I am riding my snake made of love-mad bees a surging silver ringlet of waving infintisum singular small glowing and pouring working against gravity like perfectly fresh overflowing salmon http://www.arnabaartz.com.au

Some Mute Beast

My response to Rilke’s Duino Elegies number 8 Reaching again, stalking this thirst for who I am, we are splitting in parts, raw light leaking but blind and believing in sweet enduring allowing death public slaying guarded by pulsing spectre keen eye follows flickerings by bee or ant marching chaotic to unseen nothing but not

Your Famous Skin

The Eucalyptic matrix penetrates drawing forth with curling vapour a landscape a kaleidoscope, my gaze is locked and I am a rocket. Heaven palms my heart this angelic celebrity of colour, paved in golden birthing and now, this skin, that folds and cups our soles adorned with tiny birds and diamonds. My mouth widens and I

Counting Bee’s

  Clover is my blanket, my green velvet picnic…. cool on my body, the sun is high, the lighting lush on this infinite musical…. this supreme merging…. I AM all that is, spinning through the colour wheel! THIS is my waterfall, my rainbow, my abstract, figurative, contemporary, enthused with optimism! Bee’s are multiplying, my glass is full.    

The Pink House

Pink Bees stare as hungry jealous queen pulls my hair My pink house up to waist in water sliding on sand Old man sits on wooden chair and squeezes little, pink hand Pink sea house under disappearing steps curving like questions or smoke Girl house leans in pink water under thick grey, melodic sky empty