spoken word@midsumma.

I read this if front of people, then felt embarrased (stuff stolen from previous posts and made better or worse)....:

In the beginning there was God, or King Kong
depending on who you spoke to.

In the beginning there was God AND King Kong
sharing a pokey bed-sit above a shop in the Nevada desert.

They both agreed it was a nice enough place for the first apartment even though
King never kept the place tidy and God was always a few days late with his rent.

They were, for the most part happy.

In the beginning
there was a man who carved lovers from his bones.

In the beginning there was a chicken And an egg.

There was a single flower.

There was a seed.

In the beginning there was no land,
no sea.

Or,
there was sea
but no land.

There was still.

There was a single star.

There was sky.

There was a wish.

They chase each other around places of whimsy;
an old playground
carving each other in to grey bark;
they play games of cat and mouse
learnt from old copies of cosmo
make sweeping statements
that stain the air.

They fill breaths with lists:
these are the words that rush from our mouths with out sense,
planning impractical
infinite beauty.

They draw maps
of each other
and eat them
devouring each road
hoping it will latch on to a tonsil
a nerve
as a fashionable disease-

the kind that threatens to kill but rarely succeeds.


Somewhere
in the middle -
an argument of dishes
and depths of love
God screaming “Need me”.
King Kong
(with a hate of confrontation)
wetting himself,
stickying
the apricot
coloured tiles

thinking

[thank 'whoever' we never got that
shag carpet
laid out
there'd been disagreements
all round

these are the moments
to rejoice in]

saying

“we're out of milk”
sobbing in to the damp floor.

God leaves
with a grunt,
skulks to the end
of the block-
as small as he knows how.

King pictures
running to the rescue
scooping him
in to his arms
and kissing him tenderly
on the mouth
to a close.

He whispers.

"There is no blame.
There is no regret.
I have loved every moment."

He cleans up his mess.

They share
chaos
They learn
They stumble
They learn again.

They hold on.

At the end,
they huddle together
hands sunk in someone else's
pockets
shivering
beneath patchworks
they'd stitched
along the way.

one's eyelid sagged
and drooped
and dropped to close.

'if this is The End' they say
'i don't want to see it.'

They hold on.

The last star fades
soon the sky
only lingers of
black.

The two sit
hand in hand
in heart
and stare
in to the dark.