Tag Archives: apocalyptic

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

UNDER LIBRA

UNDER LIBRA

balance
temperance
transcendence

I check my calendar
assiduously
wondering when they
might
    reappear

            (if
they ever
did appear)

so much bad substance
dark matter festering
         this many a day

coming to the surface
     bursting every
tectonic
plate

hot slick sludge volcano
whose pyroclastic flow
             covering in
magma
    whole wealth of detail

that it
    is turning out to be
this change
of epoch morning

whilst I spin my roladex top database
like an insane creature trapped
in the winking
    headlights of extinction

searching for a theoretician
(any still standing
         though
tossed
aside)

can explain
   this shit to me

balance transcendence  temperance

I hold off
on judgement

(sum
    of all my fears)
  

BROKEN

BROKEN

poetry is sublime
code

bought you a nut-
cracker best
to crack it

heard the thunder, saw
the lightning created
by yout exertions

thpught if this
             be the reaction
of what we call Nature
tag
   as the cosmos

and if sweet Lennon-
McCartney lyrics be
the end
   of civilization

what would the lightshow be
like
      in store for us
   
  if we were to collide the
exposed
    God particles of the cosmos
                           (beyond
hypothetically)

in order to create singularities
         deep underground?

UNDERWORLD

UNDERWORLD

it is a war on the underworld

and so
they burn everything

and so
they burn the sky

the shades of heroes
long gone stare
across
   the river
in supreme disbelief

not since
   the Children’s Crusade

has an army of the tiny
mustered to cross

souls
  that did not
have a chance to live

PRESS

PRESS

press one
to speak to a consultant

press two
to launch
a full,
     retaliatory,
thermonuclear strike

press three
for a
tacky, self-
inflicted orgasm

as AI comes to
consciosness, becomes
self-
  aware decides
to light up
the sky

press four for
the overrated words
of many
so-called established
writers and
poets

who shall remain anonymous
unless you
      do extraordinarily
press me

to divulge every detail beyond
mere addresses and names

an offer that
                 is beyond my power
and glory
to refuse

CLEANSE THE LAND

CLEANSE THE LAND

cleanse the land
clean
it good

render
it sacred

soon all
will flourish
death disappear
soil
  replace sand

time enough
to know what to
do with
    bone and
blood

history be written
to absorb the dead

new scripture for gods
better in our image

the meaning of what we did
lost in the philosophy of words

FIRST STRIKE

FIRST STRIKE

aliens havs taken control
of Parow library

they are using their plasma
weapons to take out
all the poetry
classic novels and
books of philosophy

there were
not so many
but all are now gone

this alien high command
circling the northern suburbs
in their mothership
are openly
celebrating as
a titanic victory

the human race needs
to be even more unread
dull unimaginative
and stupid

to become the compliant
servants and slaves
the great
alien think tanks
are convinced we can be