this is what happens when i'm bored with fascism and all its usurious emotions...

On my street my neighbours are the religious kind
Leavin pray books on my doorstop all the time
The streetlights flicker
Our picket fences illuminated
By unearthly glowing statues and shrines
In my street there are multi-cultures
None include ‘Kill A Queer For Christ’ stickers
And there seems to be a sense of security
In that we can all agree
That be it gods wills or spiraling free will
The best way to be
The best thing to teach
Is to love all your brothers and sisters
Trust in yourself
And set yourself free
We hold hands and kiss rosy pagan cheeks for equinox
We give each other flowers and drink bottles of honey mead
Theres a tribe of my nunga mates all living next door to me
I share a few beers and pipes with the battered old ones and the troubled youth
And don’t have to pay mortgage or rent
The community put together a petition in support of their cause
An attempt at recognition of multi-generational dispossession and cultural oppression
The community made use of the land without buying, selling or taking by force
Then its down to number 6 for absinthe and sex orgies with satanists
Who build bonfires every night and invite their magickal sadomasochistic friends
The hindu’s will always share their rice with me under the wise eyes of Ganesha
Mormons sometimes bake me bread send me postcards from holiday utah
The catholic’s red wine goes straight to my head while we sigh at
The sad fact of a corrupt, irrelevant and presumptuous church apparatus
I smoke hashish sometimes with my muslim friends
In the shade of what must seem like an eternally setting sun
We encourage each other to reach into our travel savings
In order to punctuate our journey with plenty of green days and laughing
Sometimes I have afternoon teas with a quiet family of healthy zen Buddhists
And though after a while my back hurts from sitting on a mat
I am easily kept complacent with good humour, wisdom and tasty snacks
The sounds of pianos and bongos and clap sticks and strings
We all have anthems and hymns and chants poems that we sing
And no matter how we disagree
On the issue of ontology
Of the reality of being and believing
No matter how much we struggle to comprehend
Each others viewpoints on censorship, death and aliens
It seems that in the end
We can always bow our heads and shake hands
My neighbours will live for safety in numbers and I for my naughty punk friends.