1, poem, poetry, – poems 2 die for

HOT PIZZA

stuff boiling over
in the microwave

a saga of a story there
in background radiation

you
mistook at first
for chicken shit
but there
you are with that
noble Nobel gong
around your
neck

showing off
as if you were prizefighter

speaking of which you
and I
traded enough blows
in our protracted experiment
in trying
to combine the races

brutal repertoire, need
a fencing master
speciality rapier
   to teach
us the
    more nuanced moves
and simple strategies
of thrust
and parry
    thrust and parry

honestly man to man
woman to man
for every ruffle
in the fabric
of our repertoire
and artful
continuity

so long story short (and
short one
long
bedevilled by
much innuendo

here we slice and dice and
roll the base

pizza
destined for some
serious temperatures

cooking together in synch,
in formation
flat
surface
to flat surface, generating
dynamism, building
connection

suddenly in such asymmetry
that climbing, climbing,
Carolina
Reaper hot, before
you say
caldera things
might just explode, go

rags to riches, order
to entropy

everything in our purview
given much
ecstatic Christening
before the end of the day

stuff
as ever, as never

boiling over in the microwave

PARALLELOGRAM

there are some
(maybe one, at
a, stretch , two)
parallel realitues
where we

were lovers
and flowing out of that some
small differences,
divergences
of no real cosmic consequence

but this one is ulterior;
this one
is so so
different

this one
does not look
like our Earth
and we do not
even look
human

though
Earth and human
it well, we well,
both maybe be

and this language
we are, speaking does it have
could it
support
poetry

best thing about it though
from our currently
could not
be
nore massively involved condition

no word
for no
that
defining word

in all those parallel
alternate words
where
our levels ran disjunct,
separate, distant

shadowing me, shadowing
that one of which
I was
speaking

sharing
with you

this very first,
last last time

APART

poets, dancers, playwrites,
novelists, medics, priests philosophers, physicists,
biologists, anthropologists
dead in
no man’s land
not holding hands
cream of the crop

not
holding
shaking hands

some
have no nothing
some just
no hands

hard to
write, make
sign or
signal

hands for holding, touching,
loving, grasping

apart
from
all this

greedy for life

WTF?

epic, apocalyptic,
apoplectic

the time of big poetry
has come
and gone

out the window
then papered
over that window
boarded
it up
for good measure

and my good friend
Tommy Eliot, not
entirely sure
whether
he counts as a guru
or merely a catalyst

crying his eyes out
nevertheless
but Tommy think
of ecology
the rains will come
storms to best all
we have so far seen

and then sticks and
stones all we
have, all
we might
aspire to
until magical mnemonics
and formulae
scratching on tablets and

suddenly
all is well with legend
and song
of the new wine dark sea

nothing as yet, unless
ever so implicitly
to denounce
our
recourse to
injustice

evil of greed that leads
to Manhattan Project

enhanced, exalted to
rival supernovae
somehow
there on our doorstep
jimmying the lock
(needing
our consent to
deliver the horror it bears)

aeons before
we arrive at the poetry
ready to
engage
in suicide charges

anything to stop
our complete dumbing down,
our zombification

kill all
the reruns, the voids,
the empty condensations,

go full
dena vu, great return
of sage Friedrich,

mourning the abysmal truth
that no
one now
reads
has original ideas

watches the world
slip out of orbit
without
single

what
the fuck?

GOT NOTHING ON THIS SCENE

strangelets
in my cornflakes

zombie Emily Dickinson
reciting her poem
about the snake
and her poem
about death

now you tell me
there is a black hole
at the centre
of Wonderland (all
that you deemed
absurd comedy in
fact
supreme gravity)

and Professor Cox
of my alma mater
there in Manchester
speculating on
the terror
of false vacuum
and the possibility of
absolute zero
on the surface of
licorice ice-cream

but
where are they now
who decades ago
tried
to save our everydays
dish out reassurance

that of classical and quantum
the twain should
never
meet

and other nonsense all
that stuff that is field, that
is pure
probability

simply laughing
tunneling through us

as if
    we are the nothing
pure probability following
their lead
                    heading
in
and out of fashion
joke on us
     imagining ourselves
solid as we seem

got
nothing on this scene

NO ONE TOLD US

no one told us
the seven deadlies
(in every shade
and every nuance)
would pitch up
clothed
in tailored suits

rock up
with college degrees
(though here
in truth
a bit scraping
the barrel)
but the Devil’s glitter
giving them
a bit
of the look
of lords of light
somewhat sullied and
muddied wrapped
in the hot bulbs and
strip lights
of their
demonic tinseltown

and here they
are
spouting the golden
wisdom which cannot
but
dumb us down

hit a level
never
before seen in
a species

consensus, total faith,
spreading
like a virus, a plague

a thing riddled with bacilli
of beyond Biblical proportions

no one
having told us
how beautiful they
would all seem

HARDON

got a hardon
hardon
of power
(because)

can bomb
anybody
am free
at
to bomb
everyone

can rewrite
your history, burn
your first draft

dig
down
suck
out

make a ton
of boodle
from these rich
resources

which you
have no
right
to have
who said
you could have?

so weak and meek
and painfully pathetic

how are
you going to stop me?

if I take
what I want
what
the law
says
is mine

my sacred, inviolable
legal right
enshrined in righteous
universal law

BEAUTIFUL

in the experiment
they setup for us

they reduced us
to balls of light

had us fly at
each other
like bullets

suddenly there it was
perfect metaphor
for
superposition

no
interference pattern .
quite
so beautiful

FOR YOUR INFORMATION

snake eyes
double slit experiment

tell me if
it is your inclination
to elect to
become a
particle

or go
with the flow, stay
open-ended
undecidable

the physics
here so bat-shit crazy
yet irrefutable
undeniable

and so
I find myself
not remembering myself
for how like Columbus
I sailed across, or
like Aphrodite
surfed
across

those one way ticket
dark waters

thinking of the choreography
underpinning the dance
of probabilities
can give me this blood
red
with iron
from the heart of a star

and every breath
a different life
a whole new universe

for your information
so many branching out
even as
we think, talk about them

co-conspirators, co-creators
of this
inconsequential thing (not
just) but
everything we are

snake eyes
twin slit experiment
something out there
dabbling in
uncertainty
taking our
precise measurements
entangled as we now most
assuredly are

IMMANENCE

oh the beauty of that innocence
pure cerulean of celestial sky

no alphabet
before algebra

so no sense and therefore
no fear of darkness, aberration,
abyss, shadow

the code
so clear, the space so
safe
no need to think ourselves
into the algorithms
of sanctity
and protection

and yet
     how might abundance
love
   define themselves
in the absence
of other,
     without antithesis?

the sky so pure
in its blue
turning
tourmaline

the creatures mute
to our
failing, our
destined misstep

drowning in an endless,
forever
emergent wisdom
we can never
now unlearn