INSIDE
poem is the fiction
of interiority
trying to persuade itself
it is
what lies inside
ad infinitum
again and
again
and again
sometimes with quite
spectacular transformative effect
(who in
their right mind
would doubt there
is an
inside
after that?)
MANUAL
this is the manual
that goes with
the reading
of this poem
it is not a manly manual
since it has to accept
shifts and slides
facts seduced
and opening themselves
up to
surprise reversals and
ongoing (nigh bottomless)
process of
constant interpretation
leading to
infinite possibilities for
re-
reading, rethinking, reinterpretation
and yet
even though metaphor
is itself a metaphor
is shot
through with metaphor
I do indeed need
to get my meaning across
this stanza break first up
but then
from me to you
so that you might run
with it, or perhaps walk
or at
least crawl
tenor vehicle literature
is a machine says Mr Calvino
but would
not wish for you
to stumble and fall
before
you are behind the wheel
before
you get the feel
before you are writing poetry for yourself
poem is
special
forces
is soldier in the war
against being
dumbed down
will
teach you
how to fight
feed you ammunition
one, two, three
programs on TV
crafted supremely and carefully
to dumb
us all down
enough there for more than
the odd pot shot
need some serious serious
poetry
great poetic guns
with heavy
metaphoric artillery
your intellectual life
here
in my hands
WORLD OF DIFFERENCE
there is a world of difference
between splitting hairs
and splitting atoms
between
quibbling pointlesly
and raising
the temperature of
the planet
a couple of
million degrees
EXPANDED
come back
when I have expanded
come back when I’m
about to go galactic
right now I am going to
be trivial, sound run
of the mill
exploring how
my silly little brain comes
to terms with
my silly little life
like those word-
wizards oc this post post
late capitalist age
wearing their cheap
durable llastic accolades
as if
they were gods
ENDGAME
this is where it all ends
this is where my poem ends
every microcosm got
its King, got its Emperor
without their cast
iron rule
the Sun get sallow
the Sun get sick
every silver cloud could
be bringing rescue
deliver deus ex
machina
task force of the gods sent
to restore the power
of one-eyed man
and libraries within libraries
secret texts coded and
cross-
referring
I read
my name and number there
before I got
taken out
all these crevices
strung between
light
and its shadow
wondering what the abyss saw
when it looked into me and you
having come thus far
having loyally and
dutifully
travelled with me
what might you conclude
if this is where
it all begins?
GO FIGURE!
was in Heaven enjoying the brand name
slurping bubbling carbonated cola
through a golden straw
thinking of all
the people in my life
whose names I no longer remember
(don’t feel bad, or alone:
I no longer remember my own)
did they make the cut?
hey who the hell knows?
it’s all
immaterial
but life
lounging by the soda fountain
is not so cool — albeit eternal
when
stripped of all its chemicals
devoid of its additives
seems whoever is in
charge of censorship here
is letting me
express some alternative ideas
a bit of a blow to those
it must be
sacrificed themselves
for
Holy conformity, divine
regimentation
go
figure!
CODE LETTER
You would not know it
I never would have guessed it
but I am.already information
overload
am millions of reams of
1s and Os
all my dualities rendered
binary, stored in
huge treasure troves of
on-off thinking
harvested by machines
whose very existence is
premised
on how
they can get me
to vote
what they
can get
me to eat
and you, oh lightning fast
magnificently electronically
minded
specimen that cannot
(you say and
say
and say again)
cannot
get enough of me
having been through
every sexual permutation
(by
funky rhythm and
algorithm
full tecnicolour word-
fest simulation)
every twist of my code
and nook and cranny
down
to last
subatomic particle
totallind all the bytes and bits
(adding subtracting multi-
plying and such
long-
dividing)
rewiring my brain almost
apocalyptically
the light is beautiful
the young
morning light
and there is crystal
and there is
broken glass
and there life
is precious and
life is cancerous
and things are
growing, flourishing
and things
are getting smashed
FIXED
Wasn’t broken
but you were determined
to fix me
and so
here we are
I am here
(you where you are
having slimed yourself
in somehow)
and me just waiting
for the wind
to go
chainsaw, the Sun
to shoot fireballs
and every molecule
of my being to evaporate.
poems 2 die for