POOR OLD
poor old
dystopia
what is
there
left to say
sadly, can
no longer
be science
fiction creature
of dark imagination
your evil
become so ordinary,
everyday, run
of the mill, super tawdry,
ultra banal
here is
Hannah Arendt
left
totally gob-
smacked
nothing to add to
the discourse, not
a single
cutting to
the heart erudite
contribution
to capture the moment
define the terrain
TALKING DESIGN
Chomsky being currently out of commission
dunno who is going to
explain to me
whether love
is transitive
or intransitive verb
and then,
as regarding the word
as substantive
is it here
by design or
off the cuff a thing
we just
make?
and talking design
blue prints, project management,
where are
we exactly now as
everything
ebbs and
flows?
time not just elastic
but a kind
of liquid
I have felt that before
and,
Occam’s razor aside,
do believe it confirmed
inside outside
don’t spook me out
with talk of wall to
wall
consciousness
sloshed around
like buckets of whitewash
yes
talking of design
why were we not all created,
designated, love engineers,
exquisite
mechanics of pleasure
so much in our specs (as
sent out
into deep space)
to have us believe this
well within our range
CORE
Marco Rubio
in his, speech
to the Munich Putz
crossing
the Rubicon
Rubicon
Rubicon
let’s in his honour,
rename it
the Rubiocon
don’t came us waiting
here in Africa
anxious
for your hard
regime change
outright colonization
the soft big mac and coke
and Hollywood
attempts to
colonize by
mind assimilation
not
cutting the mustard
not cutting
anything
any more
carriers
in our waters, marines and
ice police
on the shore
bulldozers, cranes and
every means of
excavation
screaming, streaming
to the Core.
WELCOME
Earth
sent me
an SMS
(who the f
gave it my number?)
told me regrettably
that we are
all over
our heads
have broken
the bank
totally overspent
outstayed
our welcome.
SAVING
I’m saving up
for Armaggedon
when a can
of beans
is worth
a billion dollars
and the queues
into Hell take
forever
(need to
purchase
snacks
so as not to starve)
the queues into
Heaven
no where
to be
found
and ditto the entrances
when the big one falls
enough collective
guilt
to go many times around.
ON THE SPOT
You asked me
for an inspirational poem
so I filled an oil drum
with every sugary
sweet
epithet I could
on the spot
regurgitate
dowsed the contents
with treacle
knock yourself out
with this
the spoon
of spoons.
EUROPA
years of darkness
my skin
seriously
lightened
fog of war, smoke,
gas blindness,
could not scry the sky
nothing to do
with Renaissance,
Enlightenment
that and
other
choice bull
this
before you now
hogshead
on a platter
my
flash news
EXPERIMENTAL
experimental
mental
banking on
une chanson l’amour
a kind of magic
watch my hands
each a little
imp
of diversion
distraction
beneath the city
beneath the mountain
going nebula
creating
(that is
the theory at least)
special connection, entanglement,
new pathways
kind of comical pondering
this nothing
is real reality
that is emerging
big box
of paradox
tied up
with a rainbow bow
and there we were
the two of us blessed cursed
to live a
life of standard fare
not a shred
of resonance between us
just
that initial shockwave
wave, particle
positive, negative, opposite
identical spin
who
would have hazarded
a guess at it?
what
were the odds?
TRACE
I knew I was going to going
to leave no trace.
But that we were all
leaving no trace,
erasing ourselves
frankly appalled me.
No more messages
leaving these shores
at lightspeed
inadvertently or
intentionally is
thing hard
to get one’s head around
a Universe of silence,
devoid of intelligent life
seems to defeat the idea of
purpose, meaning,
evolutionary achievement
I did say intelligent
but this intelligence
of ours
infinitely stupid.
FLIGHT TIME (NO RERUN)
gone
in sixty seconds
plus flight time
all of thirty minutes
the chess board burning
the pieces melting
it is a game
that no one
will ever play again
certainly none of these kids
sitting under their desks
they know
“duck, and cover”
no one thought much about this
could imagine it happen
forty, fifty
years ago whole
cities
shutting down
the streets, out in
protest
even Donald will not
pronounce all the syllables
calling it
his “N word”
the slightest nudge
and the species, scared
shits we are
went total
hair trigger
whereupon complete first
strike
went total retaliation
you evaporate me
I evaporate you
that’s the bargain, that’s
the deal
a winter to take us back
a hundred thousand years
nothibg
to eat
but each other
no more reruns of
Strangelove on You Tube
poems 2 die for