The Blood, the Sand and the Sun


Sand slips through my hourglass fingers,
not without abrasions.
Here and now it folds with water drops
rainbow spray lovely at the end of Lake Atlantic
where I’m talking with you:
“We’re on our way and we can’t turn back!”

The grains merely add their glass eyes
of the portals of time
to my visions lush, infectious, realms of ballroom bliss,
the workers kneeling as they cut the sand, filling pockets,
beckoning back the sun to life’s new side.
Dirty we and time are washed awake and spread alive
with a flying one, to the sea
as she slaps a foaming hand
on the forefront of bleeding blood runs ~
       us with time.

The blood, the sand and the sun
react quickly, romantic agents of wilderness
in a gathering storm of singularity,
to confuse a swirling mass of dimensions:

As wails mix agony with melancholy
the opposite, the elation, the ecstasy
are simply expressed
with roaming rainbows of the mind.

Time has fallen sideways and licks at life with light
as life dances its new dimensions.
The sand flies back in time, through chimeras
we are windblown
the Great Foot of Humanity is free at last
on the beach of Oblivion, of countless pasts undone.
And the lovelier we become
the louder do the leeches laugh, low ~
the laugh of death divine.
(So glad a burning end,
or cigarette butt to bite at limpets, nor lash nor whip,
did not see the light that time and sand and us of clay
could throw about, dangerless of destruction!)


The great footsteps began
in dark and now and here and then
and shades of black where colours blend;
and the mealy markets and the souls therein
drew their clothes and lay burning tiger bright ~
the lust of levies and fingerless licence
of torture and of pain
saw the day heralded by night.

A river of no return, with banks of green,
guided the sand, the blood, the sun above.
The river was a spine, such that runs right red
inside a brain no poison could steep:
no reservoir of society’s dread and lying kind,
selling steel and harvesting humans.
No sheets to be read/ no forms to be filled ~
thoughts begun and banked in bed
(laws unto themselves!)
blurted into the rivers of our cellves.
Society had died, would live.


We landed beside the red river run
onto gleeful glass we’d set astride
onto peaceful grass that shone us up.
Food went foremost and shelter had its own;
Light and Sand and old hand Time offered to help
for it was they, they said, who brought us,
we may sleep.

But we could see our needs
and we built an hourglass without any sand,
except in glass, and washed in rain.
Time lay still for the grace of Life
Freedom flew in all directions,
above all inside our hearts.

~ When to eat and when to die.

© 2005 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications
All rights reserved

Pete Gioconda