INFINITESIMAL
my desire
for you so binary system massive
so why
didn’t space time bend
everything bend
to my will
and with it,
you?
everything stop
in its tracks slow down
to extremity?
must be
what you felt for me, tiny
a void, antithetical, infinitesimal
as quantum
probability
worst case scenario
thing massive in its negativity
whole universe size
singularity
HONG KONG ZOOMED ME
Hong Kong zoomed me
loaded with questions
about my
Viking heritage
don’t know
if I waxed lyrical
don’t know
if I spilled the beans
since we
are old friends,
philosophically cannot
say we
chatted like
old friends
jabbering, joking,
exploring the very
concepts of
difference, sameness,
myth, reality
and construction
of identity
a dragonship longboat
out there sliding up
the river
as requested
what is Viking within me
having first
claim on my soul
Hong Kong zoomed me
questions seeking
me out
finding acceptable answers.
GREEN LAND
they hashtagged
hyphenated
took away the sky
up there, a tiny square
Mr Rockefeller,
Jets and Giants,
have to
strain your neck
to see it
before
their thoughts lurched upwards
it was the green
they took
had disappear
no one casts their mind back
to dawn days of arrival
striding across the shore
feeling
exceptional
albeit just a sprinkling
a dust of darkness
misconstrued in the light
but
not entirely for the better
changing everything
and we
too
were disappeared, story
of our disappearance,
that
disappeared too
ghosts and bones
beneath those cities,
remembered
perhaps as irony, regrettable
tragedy, parody
voices long gone
and with them all the words
other green lands out there
waiting for
all this to repeat
BARBED
Martians had landed
were disintegrating
every one
and everything
left, right
and centre,
the radio told us,
warned us
was very clear
on this. broadcasting
every horrific detail
we ran
for our lives
all the five boroughs,
evacuated the city
except
the stoical, smart few,
aficionados of
one or both
of Orson and Herbert
those unspeakable twins
in everything
but blood, though, well,
their surnames
spelled out that affinity
and there they were, those
apocalyptic sci fi diehards,
desperate
to get a glimpse at
a tripod, if not
an extended peek or
even guided tour
of the, cockpit
which might
just have shocked them,
seriously subverted
their assunptions
to find
these hideous, monstrous
creatures,
having an
affable, charming side,
with poetry and
painting, culture, architecture,
religion
as alien as us
on the outside, and the inside,
as human
as us too
like us
spreading their humanity
in their worst
possible
most human way.
TOMAHAWK
tomahawk
was just
an axe
but now it
fills the horizon
with death
and fire
seeking out
its enemies
there can be
no mercy
when
such is the power
EMPEROR
“The only Emperor
is the Emperor of Ice Cream”.
Wallace Stevens
Let’s get some
ices
currently spelled “iceSS”
the big esses there
to signify
exceSS
one fat lick
and you get
the instant brain freeze
you may not
have voted for
actually been asking
for
or,
iced in a trice,
may just be
three bullets point
blank through the face
catching
up with you
nine decades you
ducked them
but now they are here.
BECAUSE YOU STILL LISTEN
“My tongue betrayed me to the
butchers” Brecht
someone is listening
monitoring, eavesdropping,
looking for something
to
nip in the bud,
find full
flower
in their heart
someone listening
is about to plonk
me Adrienne
at the
dinner table
hold me hostage
vaporize humanity
whilst
we dine
all night
but truth
be told
I am quite hungry
am so hungry
haven”t eaten
a square meal
for a
thousand years
that starving
prodigal of
the parable
how effortlessly
I exceed him
what
fatted calf
was ever
sent my way
and yet
fortunate I am
compare those
who
simply died
at the very outset
or lived
through worst
of worst times
plague, famine, blitz,
slavery, torture
and every
subtle (and
not so subtle) flavour
of oppression
myself just chilling
at my desk
at school
told not to sit
exposed but
climb under, find
perfect safety
some rum run in
over the question
of missiles
blockades
and bluster
land of sun
and sugar
embracing
the red philosophy that
told America “no”
the villain’s
children’s
smiling faces
on some canned
goods in my
Mother’s pantry
(bound to
be
simply
bound to be)
day of disaster
beyond
any other
somewhere children beaming
asking “what
is thermo?”
“what is nuclear?”
would not
be beaming if they truly knew
someone is
listening got
my gist
left
me thinking
if my tongue did
betray what
is there
to say?
DOVETAIL
the days dovetail
they print out
dot matrix
dolphin death to life
life to death
across the tawny edges
of the bottle blue/green sea
stuff
out there arcing
in and out of the water
my life
so flat by comparison
when I want
to am asked to
speak up speak out
my squeak
of a voice drowned out
by crescendo of a wave
mighty
as those at Nazare
and to think, metaphysically,
long as, I can remember,
I longed
for fluidity
inclining
towards the deep, I searched
for quantum level
affinity
and now
the deep, unannounced,
breaking protocol,
coming to find me,
no idea
of the rationale, no
idea what this means
the days dovetail
someone out there
could be
so kind as
to dump to print
KINSELLA FILM
saw
that Kinsella film
got it into my head
that if I built
you a
dance studio
you would come
maybe an outdoor
open air theater
would clinch the deal
drag you
down from Heaven
the one up there
or one, or
even more than one
down here
place more fine
more Heavenly
created with
a loving care
almost equal to mine
AT DAVOS
they all loved
your speech
sadly, I had missed it,
going full introspective
(had such
a hard on
for philosophical ideas)
and then
there was the warpaint
smeared a mask
across my face
with it
words flying at me slowly
half-heartedly
like blunderbuss bullets
need
a missile screen to
deflect them
golden
dome in my
brain AWACS in my pocket
sold on the need for
rigorous dissection,
deconstruction
of the spiritual segue
from
rupture
to rapture
when i
came back to myself
I saw you
pulling a crowd surf
every delegate
having lost it
gone 107%
apeshit
and poor Premier
Carney
still floating, sailing
over
everybody’s heads
not speaking the language
native to white people
telling it
like it is
staight brain
to mouth
no filter, zero intervention
fractured, incoherent,
as Mr Tommy Eliot’s
The Wasteland
was in its day
and so now
the rush
to reward, honour,
praise him
every Nobel Prize possible
every honorary degree —
institutions
tripping, falling
over themselves
to rewire
reinvent
install
the new Maga wisdom
screen out
every conceivable
Sophie Scholl
likely to rain
on this parade
poems 2 die for