Portside

Seamless
By John Sweden

Life is seamless.
Doesn't stitch itself into countries, islands, oceans.
Doesn't crochet itself into separate events.
Into lines on a map, into
bursts, then nothing.

Life is seamless
We desperately try to divide it:
Germany, Iran, Indian Ocean,
you, I.
Them!

Life is seamless.
Death comes but life goes on,
with barely a ripple
in the pond in spite of
our best attempts to be remembered.

Life is seamless.
That face you carry, those breasts,
those arms and legs, those memories,
that penis, that brain
This too will pass.

Life is seamless.
The Prime Minister's body
does not know it is a Prime Minister,
The General's body
does not know it is a General.

Life is seamless.
The pumped up, large mouthed
politician's body does not know
it is a politician. Recognises no medals
no daily kill, no knighthood, deception,
uniform or trivia.

Life is seamless.
The movie without frames we love to divide -
Africa, Afghanistan, UK, China, USA.
The body is transparent to inflated balloons,
labels, opinions, ego. It is the suddenly released fart
in the midst of the television interview about
hunger and war.

Life is seamless.
Pushing skin, heart, eyes, nerves, flesh
together when wounded, again and again.
Until it can no longer heal.
The long body at an end.

Life is seamless.

John Sweden lives in lives in Manukau City, New Zealand. He has explored fire, earth, water and air via pottery, electronics, astronomy, web design and now woodworking.  

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