Platypus

Let me place brick on brick for you to wall out the noisy-jungle, monkey-mind madness. Brick after brick from the chattering load you carry extracted by ones by twos from that monkey zoo. You don’t need a monastery or mad guru-king, no scenic orient express across undiscovered continents, no subcutaneous voyage to the centre on a shrunken dust mote boat to daub their ends; the bricks will stick with the glue of your intention. The years stacked awkwardly on the horizon, stiff limbed inflexible things that won’t be anything other than what they are and you’ll not change the people travelling with blind, frightened momentum in cars doors locked, windows wound tight. So sit with yourself and your neuroses, slippery, flappy-fishy things you can never get hold of. There’s so much of you that dives beneath the surface like a sleek little platypus and won’t be seen; but build a wall that monkeys cannot climb and wait with your breath like a fat little Buddha in your belly laughing like a stream and shush-shush-shush there you are!

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