NEVERTHELESS
raid?
deconstruction?
we can argue about it:
fact remains
with raincoats and
torches
you forced your way
into my poem
in the middle
of the night
outside
no mob with
pitchforks but
a pyre nevertheless
what is to be burned?
I ask; you
do not bother
to grace
this question
with
an answer
of course, it is one
of the great questions
of all time
whose true answer
in this context,
this situation,
makes not much
difference
no
difference at all
STRIKE ONE
if the poem (this poem,
any poem,
freaks you, takes
you out
feel reassured
be happy that all
can call
it
collateral damage
for my part
condolence and
commiseration
that it
strikes you
out of the blue
as it is
meant to exactly
getting the retaliation
in early, serving
your revenge up
first
LATER
we have
to protect you
it is our
legal right
our supreme duty
your sacred obligation
to allow
us to do what we
need to do
for you
hate speech
will hurt you horribly
break you, destroy
you
and so
a freedom
we cannot possibly allow
can’t let it
get to you, consume you
whatever it takes
to protect you
even if we have to
blow your brains out
at point blank range
these the lengths
we prepared to go
you
may thank us later
OVERKILL
“Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.”
Shelley, The Masque of Anarchy
(poem on the Peterloo Massacre)
Ah, my beauties
here is poetry
where it has always been
first past the post
(postmodern, pissedmodern,
posttruth, postnuclear,
postapocalyptic, post-
whasoever)
play of language: you realize
of a sudden that deep
down in
your tin heart
you have to prevent it
look at the danger: exhibit A,
very drowned poet
his young pregnant wife
dreamt the future as monster
private parts monster
(as they all are)
scratching at her window
demanding
life, consciousness,
not exactly Turing tested but
she scared
the life out of us, this
virgin snake did cosmically,
with what
ex machina she
duly came up with
such overkill
need to nip it in the bud
radical danger of metaphor
surely
needs its own -dectomy
the threat of crucifixion
along every highway
and byway
resurrected again
something the billboards
really need, are crying out
for
real spectacle
behind them.
CONFLATION
so much conflation
in this V For Vendetta parliament
it could well
lift off, fly away
like the Hindenburg
or the Montgolfier balloon
fly away
to a sunlit upland
nativist Britain
one science-fiction secured
against any alien threat
for how will these tentacled
monsters in their
mother ships coming
to genocide
and colonize us
in their leaky sinking
dingy boat
fleeing the anarchy
we created
wars we started
just like anyone would
(but being British, they
look hideous to us)
BLOOD
I whitewashed
my poem
silly me
I got all my facts wrong
good job
the mainstream
media was
on hand
to correct me
poet nobody
cleans up his act
at least now
I might make
some kind of
headline
worth the whitewash
restoring the page
to its pristine blankness
worth
all the effort picking
up the body parts
mopping
up the blood
PLOY
it was my ploy
to throw some
poetry at you
see if it hits
before you
close me
down
see if it
sticks
in your flesh
like a longbow
arrow fired
at the battle of
Agincourt
and seeing how
I struck you so
grievous
this glorious shot
might incite
some band of
brothers
to loose some volleys
upon your insidious
self
send you off to a place
where you
should feel nore
at home and
we shall
be so much safer
SURPRISE
here’s the surprise
in this morass
of words
.
lies are truth
truth
is lies
every meaning
you woke up with
were
certain of
has been
re-defined
and the symbol of
your salvation
bent,
twisted
into new configuration
HERE
here is my poem
poem I am so proud of
you tore
out of my book
ripped
out of my mouth
plundered
from my body
buried
in deepest
hole imaginable
since contrived,
created
to be part of our conspiracy
we
animals
non-people
poems 2 die for