Passive Obsession

Jak Kirwin



We wage a holy war

Against entropy

Against time

Against the slow

Disintegration of 



Every hour 

We edge closer to

Dust and grime and

Mildew, we dance about

An eternal swirling



No words 

Could describe the 

Anger and the boredom

The bleakness of perfection

A gleaming evil angel

Brandishing a burning sword

In the holy war we wage.



We are all on the fringes

Of a barren plain

Scarcely brushed by light

Our culture writhes in permafrost

We won’t outlive this age of impotence.


Overt pleasure remains a sin

We cannot kick our longing for a master,

To be controlled, to be reduced to a 

Humourless putrid sludge, to be 

Stomped out and reduced with salt.


You get the sense that great evil

Lingers on the crescent, a hate 

No flowers may redeem, standing

At the edge of the earth and 

Looking back, all is rust.




Is there a name for the fear

That has caused this great

Retreat into illusion?

What weird logic bluffs as

Reason drowns in spectacle

And we forget our lovers’ names?


Have you the nuts and bolts

To put me back together?

Can the milk and cream calm

The chilli up in my eyes?


Sweetness, sweet hungry death,

You’re a delicate high in mango flesh,

Crumple on my tongue, melt through my mind

You’re a pixie-lipped trip, sugar plum pie

I’d become just like nothing if I dared to resist

I’d go mute and earnest, I’d forget to exist



Mystery in lingerie

Dodges denim wolves

Her heart is a compass 

She lives by the stars

She was spat into life and

Kicked out of bars and

Sin never caught her off-guard

She leant into everything

Strung out in the wind

Clutching her trench coat

Her head starts to spin

Every night like the last

She’ll sing, squeal and dance

Over cracks in the concrete

And the infinite expanse

Red lights and puddles

Pug dogs and riddles

It can all be yours baby

Go on, roll the dice

George Street feels blue

As I tread over wine drunks

And think back to you



I survived the propaganda machine,

That screeching globe of molten embers,

Now is the time to unlock the cage 

And devour my still virgin books

To return to the earthly and real

Full of scorn and thorns and pride


The old Christ is still swimming 

On a mythic beach bathed in butter

Where there is no noise or lust bait

There exists only stars of turquoise and crimson

To illuminate unbreakable waves 

The old Christ wades through purple peace


But could it be, we have the same disease

And only love and wonder make it worse?

You’re looking great but how do you feel?

It worries me when you say that nothing is

Real and you shake and speak gibberish

While you spin on your heels


Join me and fight, we may surmount 

This frenzied life of dullard schemes

The sweat drips even now and beats

My pale page, I am the scribe of a 

Cosmic thought I cannot name and 

I promise to serve it for good

Jak is a Brisbane based poet trying to make Christian mamas blush. His poetry has appeared in Glass magazine, ScratchThat, and Blue Bottle Journal.