Category Archives: 1, poem, poetry,

FLESH OF THE FAITH

FLESH OF THE FAITH

some buffoon
they call and
who calls
himself
a philosopher
slipping between
jokes
   and profundity
fires away

name of the game
dance
    of truth, not
so easy to work out
the steps
   world and self what
they want to say
for themselves
despite themselves
so damn intricate
so hard to
    pin down when
in this labyrinth every
level brings
fresh layer
  of deception

and why
must he always
touch
   his nose?

is that some
kind of tic, sign of
secret brotherhood or
silent spiritual homage
to H and L and
M his
   forebears and yes,
masters

meanwhile I am continuing
this badly scripted
life story
   my tale of desire
full of
twists and turns but
no story to speak
of itself

an iron wall
    dystopian stuff with
digital chip on
the shoulder, chip
in the brain patriarchal
body guards
stretching between my
heart and its object
wherever that
object, whenever it
should
   come into being

that the motor, engine of
everything should
be loss
   and distance, incompleteness
and sadness

great for Slovenian
thinker, South African poet,
though
    getting it down in all
its harrowing
complexity
      could be an industry
might
not
    keep your warm at night
(flesh
    of the faith to
deeply
    hold on to) may
not even pay the rent at all

ROOM

ROOM

stet
Heraclitus you are wrong
this man
   cannot step
into that bed
river mibd a river

back up a bit
let’s forget media res
simply
   start at
the beginning

virtual particles abounding
no hope of
even one
     actually actualizing

promise of this moment
never to be realized
come and gone

so many wave fronts
from bed to couch and
back again
  washing over me

you
   by now
sleeping serenely
me maybe
astral travelling
as far as I can tell

room to
expand, manoeuvre

room
for doubt

here we
      make love, don’t
make love

roll two lovely snake eyes
so you may guess
which
   forked path

possibilities, probablities,
green light
    for go, red
for full stop

in this little ecosystem, tiny
echochamber things
horribly resonant

yes
   roll those bones
roll
    with
the flow

tick the will
they won’t they
        take what’s
in the box

you know
    whose doomed cat
is waiting
in that box

the whole nature of
connection, entanglement

now
   premised on our moment

and what other, kinder worlds
have decided for themselves
have themselves
found out

let them
     film the morning after
still through a lens
of blessed
   enchantment

Pan panning with magical
camera across
the mystical space
that will
            always
be
   her bedroom

for the record (record of
flautist playing
the firsf
    time I ever saw
her face)

nothing
to see here