so I need to venture back down into my waiting creation woodlands, back where the pokie ghosts are still dancing, can you hear their distant clink and clatter, the sound of the final remnants of humanity they can not quite give up and release, holding on tight and licked still, unable to repent into true passive ghost form, too much to relinquish when you pass over the soul, they're in random formations and pretty and twinkling in the moon light, truth burns its white moon dart through this sparse coppice, the beams hurtling through the dry leaves and tumbling into the eyes of the tiny pokie ghosts, but they are not ready, they do not know how to receive without human arms and human lungs, the moon's fierce passions rattle on through and smoulder in dead leaves of memories of scratched forlorn ground, I can feel the stark confusion in the swirl of bodies all around me, I can teach them as I have known, offer them the glory I hold between my teeth and if only I knew how to embrace the light myself, instead I just stumble from charred stump to ragged stump sucking out the remaining life and vigour to satiate my failing reason and faltering inferno, when will there become a myth into reality, a story I can play a part in and dictate, no not demand but influence through my softer southern side, I can hear the crashing down hero search moon beams, the truth gleams its stark answers into my face and I just reflect my intricate and clumsy language back, I have forgotten how to just sit by the ocean and let it soothe me to far planes of lost dimensions. I am acute up against the soft lull and whoosh and carry of the ocean, the mythical ocean, the father ocean, like the father moon, the fearless fathers and think I hold my own directions more righteously, but nature knows my passage and my deepest instincts lie there unused, still shiny and pristine, maybe I'll take them down to the ocean with me, fetch them a new tarnish, spin them a new echelon to snug upon, winter would be best, for days are short and nights more giving, I saw you there briefly, but only your silhouette, I caught your scent on the breeze but then you were gone and then you were fallen, then you were disappeared, then you were a memory, and by the ocean, in this season, I know no past, but have the shape in my hips and the glazed curve upon my eyeball to show how far I have travelled, and yet the suppleness of my young skin still reminds me how far I am to go, hold me tender as I pass through layers of consciousness, this one I now dwell and clamber through is tiresome and limited, keep cracking me against the edges and my head it can't be taking no more bleeding, arms still full and red gorge though, good ten pints in each, just swinging and juiced ready to be slaughtered for the deliriously blunt pleasures of some carvery animal, so when can you show me an awesome palace of nocturnal sleep, a chamber for my thinking paintings of paradise unravelling, just somewhere warm and with you nearby to soothe me when I wake all shivering and cautious and cloaked and dusted, just stay with me for this night, for this adventure and we can be known as warriors of the courageous last mile, and then take our limbs of worship and just dissolve away into each other for some rest and oblivion to all this reckless tremulous onslaught...