THINGS

THINGS

Things crumbling
imperceptibly changing
and not for the better
all about energy and
closed and
open systems

but bear with me
there is dynamic, much afoot
some strange principle here
amongst all these
swirling particles

and yet
they are not particles
They have only the dream of a particle the whim of a field the thought of a spectacle yes bear with me this is going to be my slowest most considered most laborious poem the one that rambles on and on and on doubling back on itself out Wordsworthing Wordsworth

I guess this is the only type of
poetry genuinely left to write

this is my Solaris Mirror Stalker deep
and dark most Tarkowski of poem

oblique, difficult
conceptually
diffuse obtuse suspicious of words that hide what the carry within them

words that are hollow
resonate with the nothing
they bear within

this is me floating Sub-Zero
this is me looking where no one else has looked not knowing what we’ll be found this isn’t me stripped of human company empathising homing in on the suffering of others the pain of others
speaking dreaming the
dark night darkness we all feel the dream that coldly informs us
there will not be
an awakening

in the centre of the labyrinth
where sonething is there for us to
show (not tell) that
consciousness is meaningless consciousness is nothing consciousness is an accident at
the heart
in the nature of things

the broken
fragmented dark energy
anti-matter

frozen violently expansive imploding heart
of things.