LOADSHED
shed shed shed
until we are dead
single dead
double dead
all the levels dead
until there
isn’t a single spark
left in the system
and the
cosmic god of entropy
demon of
true heat-death darkness
has had us
for lunch, supper, breakfast; absorbed
all our humanity (always
a redundancy: ever
the total victim)
RISING SIGN
the mirror was really
water and I drowned
or we were talking fire.
and the air i enhaled
roasted my lungs
Oh, where is the brotherhood,
your Age of Aquarius
my dear rising sign.
the strings on the lyre
have become barbed wire
slicing through my fingers
as I sing my
song of peace
descending into Hell
.
SHOCK TREATMENT
Espied a shock-haired Jew
standing on a roof
jumping from one
thought experiment
to
another
dancing as he free-
fell in his imagination
down he plunged and
the world rising
up to meet him
as if he were a cannon
ball, as if he were an astronaut
cosmonauting the Moon
with every breath calculating
the space time warp woof
curved by gravity
parsed
in German
but the system too young
and crazy and seething
with energies
even on this ancient
satellite seemingly
hollow
shell
thin as cardboard
ringing like a bell
calling the faithful, the
enlightened
to extrapolate
backwards, to the raw
crazy
quite illogical
big-bang birth of the beginning
of mind.
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.
IMPOSSIBLE
I cry out
many times
cry out
but am
not heard
you might not think it
to read this poem
what point is there
crying out
in this poem
crying out
in any poem
poetry being a vehicle
of containment
a thing
of control
not a place to cry out
the pain
of each cry
rendering the poem
impossible
CLOSED
everyone
is an unreliable narrator
third person
omniscient
does not cut it
any more
open ending, minimal
the sense of closure
and yet
the world is closed
the walls shifting inwards
maybe it is your brain
contracting its sphere of power
maybe it is that
we are all trapped in
a prison simulation
literal
metaphoric
who knows the code words
for our liberation?
so far
and no further
in this supposed dawning
of Aquarius I think I have
been
a character in
this sorry tale beyond the human
capacity to
survive and thrive
GOLDEN
Show me
your golden ratios
love the very idea
of Fibonacci sequence
that I am blood but
I am
also code
blood and code both
what could be better
warm
as the Sun not
too
Platonic but
perfect the images
your philosophical
Matrix and
most sumptuous cave.
LOUVRE
the Russian
poets
are all
at war
shooting the Ukranian
artists flinging grenades
from opposite
side of
the battlefield
producing the kind of
Surrealist landscape
will
alter history
forever
best splattered onto a canvass
and hung
in the Louvre
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