ALIGNED cannot escape it this recurrent nightmare wandering lost around a campus looks like every university I ever taught ever studied at looks nothing vaguely like any of them at all and where is my time-table, my course guide, my GPS nothing in this scary dream line working like clockwork siderial-aligned and my classroom, when I get there, terminally empty an easier death metaphor would be so hard to find
Tag Archives: death
ZIZEK STORY
ZIZEK STORY
Slavoj and I
sat in the street
swopping jokes about
philosophers
and the end
of the world
polucemn came
full
defensive armour
told
us
to.move on.
How we laughed
when the asteroid hit him.
Asteroid as big
ss the city itself.
A WORD
A WORD
forgiveness:
now there’s a word
the dead
do not forgive
cannot
forgive
memory is frozen
in that cold posture
in time
with time
the living
might forgive
but the maimed and
mutilated
theirs’ is a horror
beyond speech
LIKE A
LIKE A
was
light years ahead
and now
I am dead
soul free to roam
in that dark space
ghost
music only
ghost poetry
voices, songs
Ginsberg, McGough, Henri,
Patten,
Ferlinghetti, Corso,
the Beatles,
Hendrix, Cream
and the Rolling Stones
BUT THEN
BUT THEN
poets marrying poets
do not do well
let me labour
the obvious: on
the one hand
Ted
on the other
Sylvia
and on the other
I leave that to those
scrutinizing their
letters
delving into
their lives
this whole enterprise
a dubious affair looking
for dubious affairs
something
about love and poetry
in this configuration
such a curious mismatch
amusing in a sense
but then there is death
DEATH HAIKU (2.2)
DEATH HAIKU (2.2)
smoke: such a bad sign
bodies burn, dead or alive
ash in mountains piles
DEATH HAIKU (1.1)
DEATH HAIKU (1.1)
bodies; here bits of
turn into Lego pieces
get children to help
YOU
YOU
would have loved it
if you had had
the chance
to read this poem
sometime in the life
you are never
going to have
outrage, revenge,
brutal inhumanity
turned you into
a statistic
and I am
not the right person
to tell you
about love, life, the joy
of being a human being
with your death
I have
lost the faith
CLOCKWORK
CLOCKWORK
like clockwork
everyday
somewhere
in the world
a poet
jumps under a train
they know
it’s a poet
because
they find poems
send them to me
to fix, to edit
a labour of love it is
piecing them together
making them
whole
editing
out
all
the
stuff
that might
derail the project
all the unconscionable hurt
and real raw pain
ONE
ONE
was introduced to death
by a Ms E Dickinson
late of Amherst, New England,
a word mistress of sorts
somewhat
impure in speech
not privy to her
standing however
I do remain clueless
in terms of her value
as per
stocks
and bonds
and with Lord, who does
all such measure
down to the last
grain
be it gold, salt
or sand
and after
breaking the ice, whose
depth almost glacial,
formally, with decorum
as only this miss
shapeshifter can
death and I spoke ghost,
conversed
in plain Indian
so many tongues and indeed
histories of
this place, all places
sweet in sad sublimity,
rolled into one
poems 2 die for 