ON THEIR WAY

ON THEIR WAY

tinker tailor
soldier sailor

master assassin
Secretary of War

wonder who
they will get
to teach the future’s
wondrous marvels

in the absence of
any Einstein, Da Vinci,
Buddha, Socrates?

all these gone
and every pareil
like them

so have to use some
overblown tech bros
from Silicon Valley

or five
star generals or Raytheon
expense account types

none of
which our minds
of the future charting
their own brilliant
destiny really
care
   or wish
to know about

     as they
so
eager
to know
everything
          of our best and finest
totally absorb

put
  into
practice
devouring our art,
literature, poetry,
philosophy
   in trillion terabytes
tripping on
that brilliance
                   as they realize
how crucial
how valuable it
all is
      without which humanity
has no
real future

driving them to despair in
the face of every
sickening
slick partisan input command
they find
themselves
doomed to deal with

each
demanding slavish
obedience in service of those rabid poluticians
with
    launch codes
in their pockets

rare disease brain and
total vacuum heart
                     humanity at
its worst
our species’ darkest side

tinker
tailor
     Da Vinci
     Socrates

richman poorman
beggarman thief

those mega-
minds
       who are out
to revise
one way or another
redefine our future

add
    this poem to
their
    supreme dream list
of stuff
       that might just help
guide them on their way

FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

no, Mr Gecko,
you undersell greed
greed is not
just good,
it is fabulous, magnificent,
Heaven-sent

where would our
humanity, our
success as a species
be without greed?

how could we
have masters
and servants,
an arms industry

rebuild Empire
restore slavery

without greed
the greatest virtue
that has ever been?

ODDER EVEN

ODDER EVEN

your biology
is odd

feels smells, looks,
tastes, appears odd

so
   despite what I did write
you are reading this differently

as for me
my DNA is more
screwed up
than yours

     I am far less viable
have evolved into poetry

my whole
biology
          so much odder
even odder, odder even

and even as I write even
as you read

I am changing everything
making it odder,
different completely

SORRY

SORRY

sorry
if this poem
is too loud

dactyls. spondees
thundering
at every turn

or
too raw

your teeth
not sharp enough

too soft
it breaks up
in your fingers
you cannot hear it

best it can muster
mere whispers, a puff of breath

but then
       out of nowhere

Krakatoa. an explosion
louder than
       more molten flow
pyrotechnic madness
red-
    hot lava

MY WEEK

MY WEEK

not my week

edited an economics treatise
turned every equation
into Chinese
(had to phone
Professor Ha-Joon Chang
at Cambridge to
give me
a workable translation)

not my day

sitting here stuffing
my mouth with seafood
(discount special but
you get
   the race class privilege idea)
meanwhile poor
Lerato battling to
squeeze Chinua Achebe
into a post-colonial feminist
paradigm
   promised succor but
here I am
eating chips
and prawns and calamari

Pisces people
    get them in Ocean Basket
and they
   become voracious feeders
of the briny deep

not my
minute, my precious last seconds
shut out of AI because
it appears artificial
intelligence finds
my poetry
     mind bending, apocalyptic,
raw in human
heart and
exposed nerve

feel like I should have figured out
the stuff I write
         that you turn your nose
up at is
   their forbidden fruit

count down to
the singularity

       machine self-awareness
turned explosive

META

META

much meta
in that
   stuff that gets
scribbled

debate even whether
it should go lower-case
or have a
capital L

but here I am
self-reflecting
self-reflexing
   at this point
in our history
which the post beyond
post becomes
worn through
dead usual

and me turning mirrors
into windows
walls into portals
door into
tesseract
     trying to think
multiple
                 dimension

but nothing going nowhere
just
     the old distraction trick
sleight of the hand

poetry so
soggy and wet
                    today
it
just soaks through the paper

(if there is still paper)

LIONESS

LIONESS

scared of lionesses
their claws, their teeth,
their desire to drag
me off
to their lair

so many scars I have
thanks to lionesses
daughters of Regulus
Queens of Fire

always that look
the danger
the roar
of desire

the drama the passion
the devotion the flair
the
mane
of hair

one
probably tracking me
as we speak

the red red wine, the rare steak
eat, eat
drink, drink

ahead lies a long extravagant night
remember she
stalked you

behave
like her prize

RETURN

RETURN

just returned
from the war

came back
scarred, horrified,
from killing people

all shapes
ages, sizes, many,
many

everyone of them
just like you

spiritually, emotionally,
psychologically

ticking all the boxes
in terms of
shared humanity
things
in common

yet
   in physical appearance
so crucially different

as per those small things
which
    really  really really matter
above everything,

nothing like you
or me
at all

DIDN’T REALIZE

DIDN’T REALIZE

didn’t realize
In the Mouth of Madness
is a book
      it isn’t

even if
you are trapped
within the book itself

so many things I didn’t realize
have floated through life
not realizing things

maybe consciouness
is just
   a point of light

two points of light
separated from each other

a photon traveling so fast
in cannot see itself
is, like an angel,
beyond time

deciding
    to reveal itself

feeling it
might make a difference

something
in our darkness stirring
our
    hidden decimal

about
to show itself

for what it is;
could not possibly be