Nothing happens by accident;
desire is design, down to Persian rugs
on the bare boards of innocence
and a corner temple
in this turned corner, turned temple,
at which you daily worship
and give thanks for cankers conquered
and those given up.
Here are symbols stripped bare,
the peripheral and the weak discarded
on a journey which will ultimately carry no baggage;
a journey to purely selfish ends
so you can return to us for chosen company.
Your very madness permeates this space
(for you are mad to do this, you know).
Your rampant, willful idiocy,
(unleashing forces temporal and spiritual)
mind and senses unchained,
run minor riot here
bouncing colour off walls, laser-like,
piercing and burning out creeping reason.
I don’t know the woman who lives here yet
but one thing is clear.
She’s got kangaroos in her top paddock
and she no longer cares to excuse
their demanding behaviour
or their menacing demeanour.
In fact,
I’ve seen her feeding the little devils.