sacred boards and scrolls, 1981

Roundspace Gallery, Adelaide

text written on scroll for my time

ripe mandalas against the chill, the dying of dreams.

the raptor is the plunderer; there is need for the garden maker, the fruit of the dreamer.

the children are famished. the mothers are bleeding fruit. the fathers are violated stalks.
the dreamers are ghosts…while the dark bowel of greed swells.

political offences, rioting, starvation, torture and hysteria: the flowers withered, the seeds underground.

we are none of us beautiful: everyone kills something, yet we all bear the roots of the garden.

nectar and glands, pollen and egg, delicate filaments, hairy stigmas, pendulous ovules.

nature forces remembrance: the seed, the flesh, the roots.

forgotten metaphors: silent and poignant in their soften skins.

the human brain is an enormously blossoming grey flower in exile.

cram the flowers in your mouth stained green gorging after immortality.

wingless fruits which are fleshy. female flowers which are naked. seeds with silken hair.

the streets are damned with war. the sky once far away is almost on fire.
is there virtue or logic or art in unseasonal decay?

return to exhibition