Return to Rata Gordon


Rata Gordon



in the night a tidal wave
of preservative 202
washes over &
embalms the island


the ferns become rubber
the geckos become
orange jelly lollies
the lace hanging
from the tōtara is polyester
the anemones in the rock pool
come from the bargain bin


every millimetre is
cold and still
peanut butter
in your ear
fists wrapped
in Gladwrap


the only place to find moving life
is to wonder who is wondering


do plastic geckos dream?



the shop display looks lovely
to the moon
who smashes the glass and steals
a diamond ring
she tries to fit it
on her plump & glowing finger
then sends it flying
into the ocean


who would make a ring so fucking small?



bacteria open their jaws
to bite into an apple
on the kitchen bench
they break their teeth
& roll away
like glass beads


the only thing to bring
this frozen world to life
is an imagination


who has one? do I?
let me check



something is moving in the shadows
it is thick & black
a snake
but not physical at all
it travels through everything
like black rum through a sieve


snakes through a sieve
snakes through a diamond ring
snakes through jelly geckos
through the children and the trees


do they see what they move through?
or does it just feel like a boundless bath
of jelly too warm to set?



nothingness moving
through stillness



where can we possibly go from here?


it is a question God asks over & over
& over & over & over
& over


the question repeating is
a vibration
a tickle
when it happens quickly enough
it becomes a solid thing
a body
with fingernails and skin


Read previous | Read next
Back to the top

Permanent link to this article: