Title / Prelude
I would be a very different person had my mother not starved herself for 5 days straight before she birthed me
and when I was born I was of a dark blue colour and (according to my mother) the expression on the Doctors face was one of disgust and confusion
As if he had bitten into an apple and tasted raw beef
I
A baby was born in a window
It was not me though
I am the child of a dust bin
And I am a man of the ocean
Because I am a man of New Zealand
I will go and fish for whales in the great green ocean that is my back yard
II
My baby is all the rage
The women wear him as a broach, or they sling him over their shoulders like an unwanted jacket
And the women who is to become my lover is too beautiful
I cannot look at her without quivering
this makes me dislike her
(I say women because all women are alike, they are made up of more fat than men, they have a warmer average body temperature and when you tell them that they look like a fertile heifer and that you’d like to give them tonsillitis, they run but it is ok, women are slow runners.)
III
Whilst my Children are watching the landmine
I will turn away noticing a shade of purple, it covers my left hand and is spreading out over that whole side of my body!
But no
It is only the effect of the night,
of which is also turning purple
What a lovely night it is
but I am now in hind-sight
A CRASH rips through the air and the ground shakes and the land mine explodes
IV
There is a lady that I can see from my window, when the kids have gone to bed
I can see through my window, across the street and through her window into her living room
It is raining outside and she is naked, legs spread on the couch
her juices are flowing
this is not good for the furniture
And I am an icebreaking ship
The Juices of nature are also flowing, between us
In the rain that can be seen through the window
The rain is the juice of a million apples
I would split her like ice or I would shift the decay in her apple to sweeten her however
I am an icebreaking ship only in hindsight and I could not stand the bitterness
V
I recall, as a child I asked my father “what’s wrong with my hands? They look so purple”
He said it’s the fault of the enormous garbage dogs
“The same ones that I shared an apple with over your Mothers dog-like corpse” he said
It’s just the fault of the night, I said
My dad and I don’t always get along because he says things like this so often
When I have a son, I will treat him more like a cat
And he will be sweeter for it
VI
So then, now my son has grown up
And now that Siv can reach the top shelves, where I have been storing the jars that I have filled with my fluids and the fluids of the local cats
I suppose he does not require a dusty old man like me
So I will go and fish for whales in the great green ocean that is my back yard
The child was a nice thing
This son of mine is not a child anymore
He is a dirty-great man
And I am not a nice thing!
My hands are purple because it is midnight and the sky too is purple
I swim in my lawn which is a green ocean in the purple glow of twilight
VII
It is a lovely day
But I am now in hind-sight
my son is an apple when he looks at me with sultry eyes. I am to pluck him from the branch
Legs spread, it’s raining outside
I will make his anus bleed with my forceful, dry thrusts
I will watch his face tighten as we do this in front of a mirror, not even nude.
I will hear his voice tremor with emotion, sharpen with fear until a high pitched squeal as he weakly pleads me to cease
as the sun gushes through my cabbage tree and distorts everything in the backyard, which is a great green ocean, I can see the salt on the whales grey backs
I can feel that yellow glow pour through my hands,
see, I was not born such a terrible man
I can see that now, in hindsight.