CAN DO
I had
a story
a short
story
but it
was
too
short
so I tried to
stretch it, really
extend it
turned out to be
so easily elastic it could
spread to infinity
swallow
the Universes
which is exactly what
the chip in my phone
allows me
to do
what the chip in my brain
compells me to achieve
BOOK OF THE STARS
the book of the stars
is full
of Arabic names
up to the brim
cover to cover
so clean
the script
no spots, blots,
typos, errors, slips, slurs,
smudges
Sadalsuud, Sadalmelik,
Formalhaut,
full of
the mystery of the cosmos;
they just
roll off the tongue
the book of the stars
bursting its seams with
Arabic names
CHASING WEST
chasing the Sun
West is not
entirely
a great idea
after one hits the needle sharp
pyramid in the harbour
of the Saint
(where men
strong in
scarlet and gold
flatter to deceive)
and beyond this shoreline
the so wrongly named
peaceful ocean
chasing the Sun
hardly anything of peace
or beauty
to find
about this
wild plac
VICTORIA
go well
brave friend
you have slain
half your demons
there are
but a few more
and here he is
figure of power
spirit
of sunshine
a life so close
in the offing will
be
as if you
were welded together
just think of me
retreating from my last demon
after most beautiful battle
no terms of surrendef demanded
in truth we
found ourselves matched
fought
to a draw
a forever stalemate
no time here
for memories to
be clung to
winners and losers and
those who are neither
these
are the stakes
when the dream is everything
it is unbearable to fail
PISCES
a deam world
compelled to follow
the logic of dream
and there
beneath the surface
great tectonic plates shifting
moving
battering up
against each other
the killer
physics of this
dwarfing us as
all is upturned
depth
is real
its fault lines clear
POEM IN STONE
prim village
but turn over
enough stones
shape shifters, Caesars,
serial-killers
and
at the tiny railway station
connecting nowhere
to everywhere
(all
roads lead to)
what slipped off
the rails
what
dark dreams?
(always a train
in a surrealist painting)
Oh and
there the tunnel
who knows
if there is light
if there
is other end?
something big
once stirred here
dared
a big net
to catch it
people remember, will
tell you,
people forget
what brought them here;
what took them hence
BACKSTAGE
I miss
my bonfire nights
Guy Fawkes
V for Vendetta
think I must be
a backstage ghost
martyred for my art
my belongings
my papers
all being
diced over
that every dissident of note
be hung and drawn,
thereafter quartered
taken by the State
to be
their God-
given right
and me imagining
the soft impact of
William Blake finding
his way
into Parliament
talking innocence and
experience
in his maiden speeches
subverted the empty
discourse of contract
and divime royal right.
BACK TO STEPPENWOLF
where have they all gone?
those magical theatres
maybe
they were thought so alien
had to be
smuggled off the planet
and so
nowhere
for that wolf to go
have to keep it
under wraps
test-tube bottled
like a inner worm
caged,
your inner tiger tiger
and there’s Mozart
beauty in his oratorios
but also secret code
and hard rock tar burning
up the highway
head out
of the window
should it not
get decapitated, your head
in that onrush of air
no greater
psychic blast
SHINE
“Speaking to me.
They wash and
tub and scrub.
Agenbite of inwit.”
James Joyce, “Ulysses”
are you
warm
warm
inside
full
of insight?
agenbite
got
your tongue?
cat-like your preen
sunlight making
your fur
(if you
had fur) warm
as toast
questions to ask
before quietus
perhaps it fades
perhaps it
annihilates in
a gathering of stars
on the pavement
in your own
backyard
too little light
but now
all the suns
thought it was a summit
but it was
the sum
of all spectacle
poems 2 die for