I have found my own moon.
She is my satellite.
You came to me in the darkest time, when I left my body you came with me and rescued me from death.
You shimmer blue and silver, warm and naked.
I  will follow you back to the earth on which we live.
My Lunar, my queen.
Curving and soft
Reflecting the light from the sun.
You are my moon

Maybe it's like the way god is something you can only believe in
Something you want and need, but need not to share.
As long as it has it's importance to you, what more could matter?
I choose to believe in myself and that this lifetime has a lesson to be learnt.

I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.

The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the ******* can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.

The Maori Jesus said, 'Man,
From now on the sun will shine.'

He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.

The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised;
The brain of God was cut in half.

On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now.

I love you all most,
when you are at your weirdest,
I'd **** for you all.

Before Min Sarginson claimed the cliffs
There were views of Lyttleton Harbour and blue gums swayed in the breeze, subtly givin off perfumes like ya grandmother used to.
From the top of the rotting old macrocarpa  sitting by the balcony, waiting for the kids to enter the dark, dank insides, frightened of spooky possums and spiders, you could see the shops, and the hotel waiting patiently for passers-by yearning for toilets and ice-cream. The sea always shone a thousand diamonds right into ya retinas, partially blinding you as you gazed from Governor's to Godley. Now you can see who's keeping up with Jones' and who cares more for energy efficiency, slanted roofs, succulent gardens and solar panels are now the view from my grandfather's bach.

I wish.
I was your sheets
wrapping you up and sharing my warmth.
Holding your body, caressing your curves.
If I were your sheets I'd keep you as warm and content
as myself.