TRAJECTORY

TRAJECTORY

stood on the huge iron wheel
mounted on the outside wall
of the Manchester museum
of science and technology

cops, bobbies, driving by
at my instant of transgression
so I froze in arm-outstetched pose
dead ringer for that image
sent into deep
deep space by NASA

which made me, perhaps
still makes me (with my
PhD on satire)
pretty aberrant cog
in any like-clockwork
social machine
     living at that time
in the historical house
of Engels (agreeing
ever more it seems
with the raw
redness of his theme)

John Lydon and his
backing band volcanic
at that time
defining
     the sensibility of
that scene

wheels spinning in
my head
            anarchic thread
Confederate cotton

my people of the
mills and
steel engineering

structure, order
chaos
       (fatal fractal) just
around the corner

wheel
    still spinning
probable, possible
counters aligned
naughts and
crosses
     binary system

in the
   resolution of where I was
am my
current solid
state (super) position

heading, hurtling,
     not going quietly but
like arrested protestor
kicking and
screaning

dialectic
   of my trajectory

standing on that
huge iron wheel
                      sudden
flashback
from my future