GASHED
a butterfly
flapping its wings
can tip
the scales
in a chaos dynamic
as can
as many bombs and shells
fired and dropped
onto an area
the size of a postage stamp
as dropped on Laos, Cambodia
and Vietnam entirely
to save humanity
from itself
lucky
we have
the power of
these skygods
to look out for us
this
the most angelic
of all butterfly effects
FOR THE GODS
“which to Angels look like torment and insanity”
― William Blake
Made in the divine image
(thus
fabricated)
but how come
we get
so demonic
allow ourselves this
most poisonous pleasure
succumb to the devil
in us
from
time to time
to most
apocalyptic
of times
all the time
(that
divine image getting
pretty mutated)
and then (stop me
and contest this) when
we think the divine
we get
so divisive
cannot tolerate difference
become uniquely genocidal
and so
here the question begging
to be asked (so
superb in
question-
begging)
which of all these
blood-soaked, blood-
spattered
images
is the one with true sanction
the one
from above?
All
from
below
equally above.
MORPHOLOGY OF MARTIAN
let us
invent
an ancient language, lost
for millennia
call it “Martian”
let us
construct a grammar
divine a morphology
a language that will
refuse to lend itself to
the trite
and the trivial
bend its form and structure
in the service of evil
like all the languages do
on the planet right now
giving propagandists their
dark joy
in the fabrication of oppositions
construction
of hierarchies
building of pyramids and towers
to mask
diabolical schemes
no let our language
dispense with all gatekeepers
show itself truly generative,
supremely transformational
in its very acts of creation
turning to the galaxy
to glean
from every language,
every spoken
written tongue
downtrodden
and suppressed
UNDESERVED
take it away
take this away
keep
well to yourself
I refuse to read rhis
we refuse to read this
you have nothing
to sell
you havs sold everything
this poem is immired in
bloodshed and murder
holy lies,
false propaganda
the slaughter of poets
right next door, through
the barbed wire
right outside
your secure (impossibly
insecure)
contrived
golden cage
take them awsy
these poems, your writings
this so-called poetry
forgive me
forgive us
if we give them
the contempt we feel
where you tell us images,
symbols,
metaphors
we see
only blood, find only
complicity
no matter how much you
tell yourself
do everything human
and barely human
to convince us
it is
undeserved
and so
plesse go
we csn suffer you no longer
take your sad, broken
failure of
a Muse with you
and
just disappear
AM
maybe
it’s because
I rashly ingested
exteme amounts
of caffeine
I found it in my nature
to come over all cummimgs
completely kine-
sthetic
shot-gunning like
a olive-grey black mamba
all over
the page
fang-sharing, snapping
left,
right,
and centre
as if oozing deadly venom
(which
in a sense, of course, I am)
FIELD THEORY
a thermonuclear blast
that’s real loadshedding for you
have to
figure out
lightning, atoms,
electromagnetic field
how they connect
what
is the exact interplay
between the four forces
all this at
a University
built
from twigs
and leaves
so much needing
to be re-
invented
not least
ourselves
DALI BREAKFAST
nothing quite says
“Dali dream breakfast”
than a few octopus
tentacles and a
bowl of red squid
eaten inside
a divers
helmet
other octopi
and squid
swimming around
the helmet
peering inside
shocked,
horrified at
the
surreal shock show
yet by no means
as surreal as other reality TV
GOODFELLOW
that juice
that misguides
messing with
the truth that is youth
in its
absolute
love
slurring word sounds to
fit that
shifty, narcotic
sex-dream picture
Oh
I do not hear
what I hear
do not see
what I see
my brute body far more
beast that it has ever been
your
fairy bower so
exquisitely
kindly
your words dripping with
the wonder of your
mouth, lips
parts I might
list
if I had
time to
Oh the love you have given me
too much for lifetime, enough
for one-night stand (more
might drown me)
that juice, my Queen,
so translated, brought
base to gold
great
alchemy
beyond the perfume trick
of simple chemistry
we must have bathed in
must have flowed, rolled
over our bodies
like a river
at which sight
Puck
puckered up
so
deeply impressed
IN THE MIRROR (HEAL)
in the mirror
we were
all together
all beautiful
luxuriated in a joy
that could not
be real
took me
time to grasp
how here
were sown the seeds
of an
impossibility
that was
our destruction
needed to
read Alice, see
the Matrix
sit on your couch for ours
as you teased out
every tumour
in my consciousness
and then, no doubt too late,
I began to heal
UNDERWORLD
it is a war on the underworld
and so
they burn everything
and so
they burn the sky
the shades of heroes
long gone stare
across
the river
in supreme disbelief
not since
the Children’s Crusade
has an army of the tiny
mustered to cross
souls
that did not
have a chance to live
poems 2 die for