RIDDLE/LET THE POEM FAIL

RIDDLE

who
am I

what are
we?

did any of me
manage to
ripple
    through

or bump into you
heading my way
from
the opposite direction?

If so
I trust this was no kind of clash
only the softest
of encounters

as yet unlived life touching
yet unlived life

meeting at a cafe
we both conjured up
from somewhere
arguing over
   whether it is
spaghetti or
fettucini as we did
once and therefore
must always do

the same ghostly liminal
coffee shop
that always somehow
is deternined to
serve us pasta

and being
       a coffee shop
we both scan the tables for
the archetypal presence
of existential philosophical
and literary intellectuals

huge heavy hitters
conceptually speaking

who have
    no idea how
wondrous a fallacy it
would be

to take on the grounds
of consciousness alone
everything here
(as the
    regulars believe) is
incontravertibly real

****

LET THE POEM FAIL

let the poem fail
allow its words
to slur against
the grindstone

halt
  to such
an idea!

under our (your and my) watch
no King shall fall
no Queen tumble
no
   sans coulotte tumbril
(marking
  a change in style)
taxi these
sweet royals to
a one and done audience
with this most
sharp-
    spoken of Madames

yes, and no
booby-trapped package
to drop
through some
key letterbox
     escaping our surveillance
   promoting
the cause of anarchy

and
    God forbid we fail
to deflect
that burning fuse cocktail
named after Mr Molotov

landing
   bull’s eye
in your breakfast cereal

putting
    fire in your tank
adding punch to your day

let us
    leave this here, all
to fate these
terrible days

let the poem fail
it has no
power
except to

say
what it says

****