EQUATION
energy
is mass
and space
and time
are
money
me
I wasted my
time
studying
philosophy
writing poetry
so can tell
your what’s-the-
matter
moment is
pure
postmodern
spiritual existential
ennui of life in a
post material age
nobody
offers a phosopher
a penny for
his
a shilling for
her thoughts
or to speak
the value or meaning
of anything these
days
just nowhere
for the human
mind to expand
and all
that wasted
storage space
CUT AND DRIED
thing about chess
is it’s
cut
and dried
you take my bishop
I bomb
your hospital
there may be pawns down there
lying on gurneys
lurking
in tunnels
one run
through to
the perimeter
and beyond
we could be facing
a brace of Queens
vying to sacrifice for
the triumph of their King
victpry
defeat
so strategic this battle
to an altogether special
level
of native
human genius
nothing in this benighted
world
so cut and dried
SCORPIUS
Last time I saw you
it was middle of November
just after your birthday
you were with someone
who looked alien
on the dark
side of the Moon
Scorpius was at its zenith
and you wwre discussing
telekinesis, expanded
consciousness
and meme
transmission
wbklst I stood quiet
as a Sentinel
unobserved
as I had been through
each of a host of
less
than celestial
shapes
and incarnations
defined by the demeanor each
tragic loss
to survive.
WOBBLESY
My wobblesy body feels like it was made of TS jelly wobbles and was
dragged Through the Looking Glass in search of a body of knowledge
manga fans oh how all the animations allow you to stylize my body horror
They do not give out Nobel prizes for nothing come
Follow Me
I shall take you out deep into no man’s land to where the Nobel Prizes grow graphic, thick and furious like a jungle or an industrial complex
oh this thing entropy nothing on earth and under the spell of gravity can resist your will
under your Sith serpent
power
avoid
becoming aged and bent,
crippled by time or
flattened entirely; rolled tighly into a Prufrock ball
silver-papered
collapsing under mass of own gravity or hideous weight
such as the case
with its monstrous prosody
that
cuts through carves through
sinew and line
thar mighf be way better expressed
But I am consciousness, damn it,
and will
not be so undermensch, slave
mentality addressed
and so will resist
have it in me: in my D and also my A
to pull a radical chemistry, total
kitchen-sink alchemy
become blob of early science-fiction
horror
terror of the cosmos eveb
with ridiculous prop and
sans world-altering green screen
philosophy-rewriting graphic
(that
book hollowed out
where Neo
hides his truth
truth you
have to see
and feel)
and as blob
name up in lights and
star of the John Carpenter show
lovecraft loving myself
(yet nothing masturbatory)
demigod of
sexual psychosexual
sixties psychedelic acid
dissolving everything in my slow inexorable path
and
then some
putting paid (style of
late capital
economic erotic orgasmic ectoplasm)
of all that
Borg resists, fails your
cosmic Turing test of simple logic
suppliy and demanfd
not to speak of Malthusian
stupidities of my sweet but stupid
biodegradable humanity
float tp the surface stuff in
the primal soup and
expendable offal connecting tissue
body fluods
in event of war and advent of
armanents’ industry
could cry for
this humanity
if I had eyes
and I had tears
lurking in the undergrowth in
alien camouflage
so far beneath ice and
fire
and blasted rock planet
of your proverbial, perpetual underworld
below, beneath and
so incomprehensible
to ali
that is Aesthetics of Guides and Gods and
old outworn mythology of
Anglo American poetry
modernist to
a cataclysmic
fascist failing fault.
ANTS
enough of your antics
you
so-called politicians
most partisan of people
let the ants decide
the future of our planet
so many many
more of them
and one
creature
one vote
is that not what
democracy is supposed
to be
all about
the thing elites fear, historically
from Plato to
Nero and Caligula
and every
evil regime of brothers
no ants they got a matriarchy
and I’m sure their Queen
will be cool
with whatever saves
the day
averts the death of
our shared
blue
planet
(Janet)
before it goes like Venus
goes like Mars
atmosphere like
black lagoon
or none at all
full rocky horror
so no more fiddling
identity cards, restricted polls
delimitation, boundaries,
every
outright illegal attempt
to gerrymander the system
give the ants the vote
give it to
every creature
can’t
do worse than we
have done
no time for legal
linguistic quibbles
time we
turned partisan
into
“partisant”
(show this world, this Universe
what this species
is all about
narcissistically thought
to be
a Divine image)
MARS HAS FALLEN
Mars has fallen
the missiles stand erect
casting lomg shadows
firing position
buf they have been like this
for well over a hundred years
if I had the art
then I could paint them
you might bet the picture
would be
pretty severe
but I am prole
what do I know
so are
we all
what
do we know
Mars has fallen
the machine is broken
all is entropy
final state between
the have
and the have not
nothing gets sown
so there are no parables
just the explosions that will come
that they cannot stop
the pressure built up
simple, obvious physics
I would have said if I knew
such
basic things
but I am prole, must always
flounder in darkness, taste
bitter ash
the storm gathering
the storm we are told
is pure propaganda
the deepest
of lies
but Mars has fallen
we can feel it, smell
if
energy has gone, lifeblood
is drained
someone has
done all the sums
it is the end of the line
POETICA
I wrestle with words
mud wrestle with them
take on every kind of figure
of liberation and repression;
tag-team fight with tigers
real and paper
never win however, my
career pretty awful
bereft of any victories
perhaps something
in the mud
consistently on
their side, already purchsed
to favour
when I get down and dirty
never really thought
how down and dirty
could
play so dirty
and the great gods of
our body politic bound
to cheat
as a matter of principle
anything in that sub-sphere
vaguely harmonic, barely
poetic
going to get the absolute
skew-eye when it
comes to
judicial image
as framed
smoking gun when
we go to VAR
(all that mud
they get to sift through)
THINGS
Things crumbling
imperceptibly changing
and not for the better
all about energy and
closed and
open systems
but bear with me
there is dynamic, much afoot
some strange principle here
amongst all these
swirling particles
and yet
they are not particles
They have only the dream of a particle the whim of a field the thought of a spectacle yes bear with me this is going to be my slowest most considered most laborious poem the one that rambles on and on and on doubling back on itself out Wordsworthing Wordsworth
I guess this is the only type of
poetry genuinely left to write
this is my Solaris Mirror Stalker deep
and dark most Tarkowski of poem
oblique, difficult
conceptually
diffuse obtuse suspicious of words that hide what the carry within them
words that are hollow
resonate with the nothing
they bear within
this is me floating Sub-Zero
this is me looking where no one else has looked not knowing what we’ll be found this isn’t me stripped of human company empathising homing in on the suffering of others the pain of others
speaking dreaming the
dark night darkness we all feel the dream that coldly informs us
there will not be
an awakening
in the centre of the labyrinth
where sonething is there for us to
show (not tell) that
consciousness is meaningless consciousness is nothing consciousness is an accident at
the heart
in the nature of things
the broken
fragmented dark energy
anti-matter
frozen violently expansive imploding heart
of things.
RIGHT AS SHE BLOWS
Human rights
human rights
you have to squint
through a microscope
to get the gist of where
she is coming from
in her text
on human rights
Oh my humongous Suella
Sulla Braverman Braveheart
you will stand by your principles
fight for them lie
for them
kill and almost
die for
them (not
really, but it rhymes)
and rhyme is good
and euphemism too
and repetition
a zillion times
uncovering the frustrated
inner poet in you
(not that you would
ever stoop to elegy
not
the job of
Home Secretary)
to bewail
lost migrant lives.
DOLLDRUM
we have drifted
we have drifted
an accursed mariner
at the till
we have drifted
into a patch of dead sea
our island settling
somewhere
between Shakespeare’s
garden and Eliot’s Wasteland
as droll and dyspeptic
a dolldrum as
ever can be
zombified
from head to toe
the specter that shadows
our humanity
poems 2 die for