OUTSIDE YOUR TEMPLE

that line from Robbie Williams
about talking to God
floating
through my brain

woke up
and suddenly found I had
strayed into your
encampment

masquerading as sort-of
poet, philosopher,
lover of Zen
and all bladed weapons

watching you agog
amazed: every
action small
and large, every word
both long
and short
a telling truth to power

something about
the semiotics here, though,
a red, red flag
to tormented souls

skewered by the fatal ironies
of such massive, cosmic,
toxic contradictions

their Empire
a prison
from which they
cannot, dare not,
refuse to
don’t know
haven’t the faintest idea
how to escape

this dream world best
world
worst of
all possible worlds

****
and here
is a figure too, West Coast
Italian in
robe soiled and tattered
barefoot, perhaps

those feet
not having seen water since
the Pope kissed those toes

crosses in
front of me, of
pure
holy squalor our
most iconic figure

a figure
so joyous

hard not
to hazard a guess as
to who he
just has to be

****

the police are here
in riot gear
they

have their
orders

they

beg
to differ

what happens from hereon
in

is scripted

like a victim selection
bombing program

it was authored by machine

Published by Damian Garside