AND FILE
imminent
immanent
who knows
cares
what these words
mean?
whether they circle
each other in a loop
stand in
series
rank and file
or jostle with each other
flex their muscles
or scratch like stones
giving
sparks
birthing
fire
RECALLING MR POPE
sound
echoing sense
but what if there
is no sense
rule of your nonsense
Mr Pope
descending into
the entropy
of brute power
I decline
to add
for why say anything
when gets so grossly filtered
crushed by the imposition
superimposition
of hideous, ruling
mythology
under which stone rubble
words die, asphyxiate
cannot breathe
AND SO
and so;
God showed Job
the small things
of the Universe
the fine
print
of his creation
as they
walked together
across the smouldering ruins
the fields of ash
the huge expression
catastrophic to
a fault
of those
who refuse
to see
who
do not read
BACK TO
I was back to
the futured
to my
old university
one of those ribald
dreams where
the basic narrative comes
courtesy of
capitalist content creator
and there I was
both ancient alumnus
and yet feeling
the total freshman
all my higher degrees
revoked
on grounds of
relevancy
struggling in the climate
contrasts to make
my way both
upstream
and downstream
intellectually frigid, frozen
broken
desperate to
if not remake
at least
reshape
the wheel
whilst the Sun scorching brains
leering contemptuously
through
the stratosphere
protoype for every
god Emperor, every golden
King
and, yes, indeed
I am afraid to add, every
trivial
trivial Dean
as I made my way through
the panoply of departments
renamed
where not structured entirety
every theory
so local, limited, narrow
yet
same same-same
not of the intellect
but of ideology
servile, appeasing, without
a mind
to contemplate thought
of difference, thought
of resistance
triumph of appearance
and death of shame
back futured, back dated
limbo lateral
shifted
what else should I say?
EDITORS
the editors called
them in
hectored them
told them that
to keep
the people down
we need
to keep language
he we she it all
they them
need to kill
the words
kill
and liquidate
kill
and paraphrase
topple words
from their throne
strip poetry
to the bone
(reduce it to a
sweet
bare rhyme)
down
down
down
kill and devour
reduce all
words to spit
and spume
our few
true words will
hold all power
and so
the unthinkable
can
be made to think
and think
the death of truth to power
ZEITGEIST
steam
going nuclear
hissing through
the pipes
after the roof blew off
mutation and Nature
began to conspire
my brain,
much troubled,
was shuffling through scenes
as if a pack of cards
as if the ghost of a film
Tarkowsky envisaged
but never completed
I looked at my skin
wondered if it could
become and then
saw it suddenly
do duty as
a screen
I felt like I had become
digital, become metal
without Tesla lightning
without leaves bursting
through my fingers
as some pagan
god or other
felt my mythological truth
was that I should
become a tree
A DECENT PEOPLE
I was in the British museum
admiring what was stolen
when word csme my way
that someone
in Downing Street
was methinks
protesting too much
strange thing was
he was outside the Prime
Minister’s house
at a dais, facing
away from the front door
perhaps leading people
to believe
that contrary to
speech content, delivery,
and all appearances
this poor wretched and
confused individual, might
well be
the Prime Minister himself,
BELIEVE
have the taste
of death in my mouth
can only believe
you got it too
now we smell,
we hear, we see
what all
your words mean
we look right through
your camouflage of light
into a darkness
no one should believe
we
all believe
SACROSANCT
the revolution
is beginning in Rochdale
any shock to complacency
is revolutionary, let alone
the pointing out
of moral turpitude,
cardinal sin
and so
raise the drawbridge
erect the barricades
terrorism is expressing
itself democratically
through the ballot box
people
who have no right
to be heard
having a say
else the thousand year rule
of the best sort, the ones
who perennially gloss
over
the horrors
of our history
will be broken, in tatters,
and we will be left
like infants
wandering around
clueless, without diection
wondering how
we could have thrown
into the garbage can
of time
something though
so
fictitious and mythological
nevertheless, so so sacrosanct
poems 2 die for