after ‘blessings upon them’ and ‘nudes animals and ruins’ by Tracey Slaughter and ‘i am writing you a poem about art’ by Tusiata Avia
Sunset Prayer (new beatitudes)
Blessed be!
Blessed be the dead fags, six feet under the soil, their bones bleeding pink!
Blessed be their bodies!
Blessed be the flesh rendered
to cinders! Blessed be the dust and ashes.
Blessed be the broken wings! the battery acid under their toenails! Blessed be
the great suicidal melodramas staged on the cliff-face of nearby rooftops
or on the bridges crossing the long and winding river!
Blessed be Sturges Park! Blessed be the cocksuckers at dusk! The Fairies! Blessed be
their formaldehyde kisses! Blessed be the
mandibles of Heaven reaching down
to snuff
them
out!
Blessed be the Vision and the fading Light!
Oh Lord, blessed be the non-believers,
heavy-hearted drifters, railway tracks ringing in their ears
like the deadly impact of rain
falling onto concrete!
The smell of wet gravel fills my nose.
Oh Lorde, I will kneel here
and beat my chest in this cold room with
its small and waning candles, just watch me.
Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud*
Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud* Amen! *thud*Amen! *thud* Amen!
*thud*
Midnight Prayer (a time for everything)
There is a time for everything, and a season for every transgression under the light of heaven.
There is a time for peace
and a time for reclaiming our space.
When they go low
… we kick them in the fucking teeth.
When they firebomb our home, burning it down to its roots,
our throats clogged with smog and soot, choking for air,
we stand in formation
arms linked / don’t blink
don’t break the line
hold!
There is a time to scatter stones
and a time to gather them back up… but now is not that time.
Make no mistake, we are at war and they fired the first shot.
So when they drag your sister behind the wool shed,
pick up that fucking brick and start throwing!
When they get to their feet in Parliament like some $2 preacher in some shitty-ass pulpit
and talk smack about your friends
blah blah blah reverse racism
blah blah blah adult human female
blah blah blah drag queen story time
get round that cauldron and start stirring, bitches!
bad cess upon you, Winnie
upon you, Nicola
upon you, David
may you never proposer
may the first drop of water to quench your thirst instead boil in your bowels,
may you fade into nothing, like
snow in summer.
This a PSA for all us white fags out there - yes, I do mean YOU!
They’re cuming for you next, love……. if they haven’t already………
Yes, there is a time for healing
but there is also a time for fighting back. Jesus said to love thine enemy, Jesus also said
don’t be a little bitch, don’t be the one who did nothing.
Prayer for the Dawn (Aria)
When god said let there be light
did he realise how long we’d been toiling under his shadow
like things under a rock
that’s suddenly been pulled out from its socket in the mud?
Stepping out into the sun, you get to choose:
will this be your garden? or your grave?
so many crucial things have happened in gardens:
the fall of (wo)man
the fall of Babylon
the fall of the Son of Man
… so, y’know… no pressure!
he’s set aside a plot for you among the rhododendrons,
their colourful faces are clustered around your aching bones
and stained pink like cancerous cells in a petri dish.
What a monumental act of will it is
to put one foot in front of the other
and walk at peace underneath these treetops.
I always thought people with closure were so fucking smug,
trundling their trauma round in oversized black prams
cooing ‘one day he’ll grow up to be big and strong, just like his momma!’
for me, it sits under the roof of my palate
or in the dark centre of my pupils,
or between my toes, like an ever present pebble in my shoe.
O how the grace of god shines upon us!
he grants us healing like the daylight ricocheting
off the shiny blades of grass on this perfectly kept lawn.
We used to sit on my front porch, under my bedroom window,
watch the day’s ending across the vault of sky and trickling down
the tarmac of our shared driveway. By falling in love with you, this is
the dead-end that I volunteered for. No more take-backsies, no more tag you’re it!
Whatever your choice, I must go onwards,
on this day and every other day that comes after,
even if the sun turns eastwards,
even if the leaves on these trees shrivel and die in the soil.
I’’l light a cigarette for you under the rhododendrons,
wedge it between the branches, smoke rising like incense, reaching up, I think:
I’ve recreated the Burning Bush with marlboro reds… I’m sure you would approve.
