PLUMB
pull
out a plum!
do you
get my gist?
do i have
you plumb
or have
left you numb
here: take these sticks
pick do the I Ching
make into
fire undee
mountsim
lake
under Heaven
moving
flowing lines
Yin
Yang
Yang
Yom
derive a
divine spark
much
rib together
then twill see
how deep
we can go
above
below
will measure
will measure
pull
out a plum
be my pleasire
BURN
life is not
margarine
spread liberally itself
across crisp, crusty
oven-
fresh bread
yellow golden
no
life is that
which sticks and
burns
rips off your charred skin
falling from Heaven
like napalm,
white phosphorous
or those cluster
people killers
that break into toy-size
teeny-tiny
run like Cristiano
fast and zig-
zag as
you can
across the entire Nou Camp
a bomblet
will find you
mind body problem
nothing in the body
the mind
has not figured, over-
thought
how to how to
horrendously kill
but the Sun continues
for millions of years
this avatar of hierarchy
will
seem so god-
like, be
forever shining
until
like us
it get old, fat and greedy
swallow
the Earth entirely
desperate for survival;
new stuff to burn
YOU
you, whom I love,
who twice
(not once)
gave me
the gift of life
who are you?
where
are you?
nothing of what I am told
can I longer believe
imagining writing the text
saying the words that
will change the picture
transform
everything
but there you are, at
my level,
down to my
size
picking up stones
rooting through the rubble
lest there be those
lost and forgotten
erased by history
needing to be
found
restored to memory
OMELETTE
“you egg!”
Macbeth,
Act 4, Scene2
make for
bizarre bedfellows
lead to
crazy places
they definitely do
Darwin
to the jackboot
merry old Malthus
to the electric fence
dingy ripped
and ravaged
upon the ocean
propaganda as truth
set up in best
civllized dress
but slice and dice
whichever way you cut it
there is just too much egg;
today too many eggs
which are
not to preferred taste
being of the wrong shape
and size and
State-approved colour
hence the forever
Napoleonic solution
of
military omelette
ALLOW ME
Oh let me
determine to
re-engineer
every paroxysm of
crescendo in
our
head-
to-head spectacle
be nothing if not
gorgeous subtle
in whatever word
interface
with all my
Sun and Moon,
everything of mine
tuned to
your specific sublimities
causal, yet Oh so perfunctory
and utterly lesser
in rapturous
capacity
as is
Shakespeare soliloquy to
shriek of delight to
close
drunken rant
superfluous as
expressed
MASH UP
it’s all
a mash up
can’t get head or
tail of anything
saw this thing bullet-
spewing, bullet-riddled
claiming to
be rational
so, for God’s sake,
plrase exercise, and if not
exercise,
express extreme caution
when you pitch up
at my door to exterminate
careful not to throw
me and the baby
out with the boiling bathwater
as you flood through
every room with
mandate
to control
penchant to wipe out
poems 2 die for