My tent billows and tugs like a boat on an anchor rope.
The great easterly springs to life.
Cooling the scorched earth.
Tiny beads of moisture
make the gravel darker.
Dark shadows of the spinifex border the
path of desire setting my thoughts wandering,
out into the eternal vastness of the plains .
When in quiet contemplation I
remember those Pilbara heady days,
the barbs of ego highly
the spinifex blades
piercing my feet,
and laughter shook my soul.
The primal thrust and the basic source
Rippled bellies and their volcanic crust.
While old Frank keeps a humble watch
his job to pump and plunge (the water bore)
The Alien homestead primal too.
Its doors and windows gone.
Wild throng visitation.
We are but here a while,
To inhabit this strange and eerie landscape.
brings up mad desires.
This morning there comes a calm
and peaceful end ,
to all the mad wild thing
For love itself has entered through the door.
Out pouring in the landscape.
Unleashed the visitation upon the land.
Our primal instincts run ramped for
survival of the clan.
A wild band of little heroes ,
plunge into homemaking .
in the homesteads emply shell.
The Dark voluminous sky fractal pattern
reflect the chaos so.
The Art is done.
—Pilbara Dreaming Collection
—24 July 2010