IDEALLY
I have an idea
for writing a poem
an idea
for creating the Universe
an idea for
making love to you
and now
thanks to all the angels
resonating in this field
we can now
give it a number, work
out the probability
construct a theory that
can be proved by experiment,
that traces all these ideas
as they do their damnedest
to alter
the nature of things
back to what it is
abstract physics will
no doubt insist
is actually me.
YES, MAXIMUS
yes, Maximus,
we are entertained
we watch the spectacle
are the spectacle
are so glad to be right up close
close enough
to smell the blood
a little too far
to feel the steel
(the sacred heart of
Empire itself
loving
the power
of this shock reveal)
HEY POEM
hey poem
structurally
speaking
are you
wrestling? are
you
striptease?
looked for you
in Barthes mythologies
did not
find you
maybe you are
not a part of
any
system
of signs
have
nothing to do
with culture
at all
SOMETIMES
sometimes
I am
just
randomness
Cummings words
jumping all over the
quantum page
as if
twin slit experiment
(the smile of physics gone Gemini
getting our minds pretty
tangled up together
you tell me coyly
inform me
in no uncertain terms)
if it cannot be
real
this everything
if it is lax on locality
could it
be dream?
I asked this of the iconic cat
in the box before it
disappeared
and now I am blessed with
the answer but sworn to secrecy
science
now in uproar
doctoral candidates frayed
fissile
exploding in clouds of
white chalky dust
as if
made of talcum powder
all over Tesla’s headstone
thinking of
the half-life of what
lies
in that grave
Sent from my iPhone
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
IN THE BEGINNING
IN THE BEGINNING
I was very small. I felt very small too: lying in my bed curiously warm, not frozen with fear.
The thing was massive and its violence was unimaginable. I heard the screams and the seconding sounds of slaughter through my bedroom walls, solid brick though they were.
Then there was silence. The dark shadow shape towering over me filling the room came through the door, then slipped into bed next to me as it did so diminishing in size and then disappearing entirely.
I knew it was there. I knew that it would remain with me forever. Sleep came quickly. As I slipped away I knew that this creature, this beast, this entity and I had an affinity. Whatever it was, whatever its nature it would be spending a lifetime with me.
Turning all the dark vision is churning my head into words, this would be its legacy and terrible gift.
PUT DOWN
Put down
your candy crush game
(would so
like your candy
to crush)
but first a word from
our advertisers
if you went professional
option you would get
premier service and not have
to worry about anything
meanwhile in the simulation
that is the poem
we are either particles
or waves or
both or neither
so let me crush your candy
whatsover
catch you me
cheating on the two
slit experiment
by the time the last line enjambs
many many alternate universes
(eat your heart out
Michelle Yeoh)
up and running, teeming
with our joint energies
poems 2 die for