DEE SUNSHINE : Down To Earth §1
DEE SUNSHINE : Down To Earth §2
MARGARET C. SZUMOWSKI : She is a Nation
POETRYREPAIRS v13,05:049
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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DEE SUNSHINE, 35 Falkland Street (0/1), Glasgow, G12 9QZ, Scotland, United Kingdom.
Website: www.thunderburst.co.uk

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Down To Earth  §1 Down To Earth  §2 She is a Nation


DEE SUNSHINE
Down To Earth 
§1
In the dark aftermath of returning to ground, our eyes gouged out and our mouths parched, nothing made sense but blindness and thirst. Stumbling, raw-tongued, we followed only the urgent call of need, the path of simple requisites; felt out with the roots of our feet, the seeds of our bellies, the hunger of our sex. Smooth and soft to callous fingers, we were seduced into complacency, into loving our godless estate. To be filled, rested, sheltered; nothing more was required, nothing more requested. In the darkness of fucking, we were drawn to the perilous edge of the sublime. We loved the danger of sex. The entrapment. The rent flesh of remembering. The once upon a time of atonement. It made our defilement all the more ecstatic. In the darkness we burrowed down into the ground, down deep into the moist torpid soil, through graveyard bones and dense humus, dead roots and forgotten coins; through the flaccid vacuous yoni of the slain hunter goddess. Here, within the rotted womb, the corpses of gralloched deer and raped swallows; a landscape of rusted slippers, creeping ivy, pools of menses, broken mirrors. Down, we burrowed; rooting out worms and small crustaceans, crunching stones in greedy teeth, feeding coarse bellies, with no thought of nutrition or digestion: only of filling holes.
POETRYREPAIRS 13,05:049
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Down To Earth  §1 Down To Earth  §2 She is a Nation


DEE SUNSHINE
Down To Earth
§2
When the canvas of paradise has rotted and all pigment is bled grey nothing remains but holes: holes that scream to be fed, holes that scream to be filled - filled or defiled slobbering to polished fantasies of candyfloss clouds and shredded glass, distilled toxins and pornographic gloss, mutilated dreams and Dresden fire... Love plus fear equals an impossible equation. There are factories spewing out cleverly packaged indiscrimination for insatiable consumption. In this world of holes, they are the new church: their mantras mesmerise and stupefy - a universal barbiturate, casting its grey shadow in a dazzle of triptane technicolour... and we are all willingly seduced and deceived. Holes know only themselves: they cannot conceive of that which contains them. Holes know only their pain, and the constant unfulfilling filling that dulls the pain. In drugs and sex and television, in eating and drinking, in constant consumption, we fill without filling, the empty places in our hearts and heads: obeying the cruel demands of the fascist in our bellies; the steel clad Mosely, the brown-shirted bastard with the number of the beast tattooed inside its eyes. There is no empathy in need: need will gladly fuck anyone over for a quick fix. You and I, we learned the junked out inhumanity of needing: the chemistry of desperation. We knew the seed that transformed baker into butcher, civilian into warlord, artist into antichrist: we knew it in our veins; we knew it in the choked arteries of our reason for being. Having fallen from the impossible dream of flight, we bought into the supermarket of night. Cruelty became us, with rarefied ease: it slipped into our skins, like a ky jellied cock into a barren cunt.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.05: 049
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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Down To Earth  §1 Down To Earth  §2 She is a Nation


MARGARET C. SZUMOWSKI 
She is a Nation
She is a nation gone wrong, every road shut down, emaciated refugees crowding the streets ululating for the latest death. She shaves her head, wears black, beats her knuckles against the bars. Virunga cut down for firewood. She loves frogs and salamanders, small snakes and caterpillars. The woman and the nation, not talking, the country stripped of trees and singing frogs. A nation where suddenly those who live close together, slice down their neighbors, neighbors so close the killers are cutting their very own throats, an old man sits reading his Bible near Lake Kivu. Children offer trays of peanuts for change and men sell fetishes. She suffers, a slashed nation, windows painted black, eyes shut, lips sewn silent. At the mission a woman throws herself to the crocodiles.
POETRYREPAIRS 13,05: 049
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DEE SUNSHINE : Down To Earth §1
DEE SUNSHINE : Down To Earth §2
MARGARET C. SZUMOWSKI : She is a Nation


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