I forge a path along the sandstone void,
bound for Eagle Gorge,
hidden from the would-be scowls of the ranger,
hidden from the office matriarch
that tucks us in
claiming the little space still left.
means savage end
I'm drawn in
like asteroids hurtling by mad pulls
to mad fates
- I want that sea to have me,
to take me under its murderous rage,
to break my neck against the
of its underworld.
But not for want of death.
Instead, for want of life which,
draws me back from the gorgeous brutality.
long before arrival out east,
way out here - out west -
a couple of mutineers
They the original Euros to Oz
- out of horror though, not choice;
doomed men of the Batavia.
I watch the sea
with such a wild, brutal, ancient viciousness
that I sense
it itself lays down its history
without a hint of compromise.