ANTI
I must say
I hate you
because
I love you
for that
definition of self
you are so
desperate to
defend
calling out haters
everywhere
for that
definition,
identification
will
be your death
and your death
the death of me
so please
if you would
please call me out
TYPOLOGY
typing my life
into a phone
so much
has to stay unsaid
because it’s
a poem
smaller and smaller I get
but closer to the bone
have to consider that
even as I write
what happen to have
scrawled here
could be
my last word
LOVE THEM (GOT TA)
poets, poets
got to
love them
all shapes
and sizes coming in
fighting
for the light
some pushing, pushing
edge of that envelope
push so hard it
boomerang back courtesy
of curvature of
the Universe
some
dibbing, dabbing
polishing the inside
of that bubble that it shine
like a
jewel and
still
keep its perfect shape
room for both in this place
I say
no lebensraum issue
either way
perfect bubbles and
magic
messages from
the back of beyond beyond
you see
what life be like
without either of them
STICK
stick to football Gary
and
over and above that
stick to your job
(not down
the left
wing but
finisher in
the middle)
stop
sticking it to
all those true
Britons, guardians
of the long
ball game
who never won
a sweaty sock or
dinged
shin pad
no thought
of golden boots and
golden goals
won
against Beckenbauer’s
band, Maradona’s
mob
serious rivals, experts
in dishing out
national
humiliation
nor
are they ever
likely to, spending their
careers on the pitch
like demented ducks
lacking
all
sense of the game, worse
than headless
chickens
scoring goal after goal
after crazy own goal
from
every outrageous angle
and somehow
always what
is contrived to be
a totally illogical
offside position
WAS
was lecturing
on the logic
of poetry
when you
threw
a flower at
me
lucky you sit
in the back
of the class
for if it had
reached me
if you
had spiralled
it like
Tom Brady
might have
bruised my
soul
quite beautifully
FROM THE SOUTH
South gives you an
wrong-way-up perspective
right way up
as we
see it
though
blood rushing
to your head, helps
you think better
in the Tarot
nobody clearer
in thought
more clued up
on the road to redemption, than
eye to the sky hanged
upside
down man
and so
I spoke to this soul
looking for liberation
and he
told me what to
tell you
which I
do relay here:
you are not
free from
and will
never
be
free from discrimination
(by the
sharpest of logical
definitions)
if you
do not
free yourself from
the Liberty
to discriminate against.
CLOCKWORK
like clockwork
everyday
somewhere
in the world
a poet
jumps under a train
they know
it’s a poet
because
they find poems
send them to me
to fix, to edit
a labour of love it is
piecing them together
making them
whole
editing
out
all
the
stuff
that might
derail the project
all the unconscionable hurt
and real raw pain
SOFTLY
(for Emily
Maitlis)
speak softly
when talking
truth to
power
walk
circuitously
and carry a small
yet not
too insignificant stick
above all
addressing
the voice that
must
never
be addressed
don’t go for it
call
sign
Maverick
like a
shrieking naval jet
on a strafing run
however much
after-action satisfaction
however
much top dollar
sheer
redemptive fun
PROFESSOR SUGAR CUBE
wanted to
dissolve all boundaries
between
self and cosmos, writer
and word
sucked that juice out
instantly
on the road to
strangest territory
such a dark, dark terminal
sweetness
and multiple many-track
dimensions trapped within the
confines
of that cube
.
NOT YET DAMAGED
was born unto
you
a son
eyes brown
hair (then) fair
the whole
not yet damaged
beyond
repair
in case
you hadn’t noticed
in case you
didn’t care
on way or another
poems 2 die for