Frankenstein – poems 2 die for

DANCING WITH THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN

was heading due west
when the wheel
started to splinter, come
away in my hand

seemed like a vortex out there
demonic triangle
         portal pulling me in
ghost ships
     flying dutchmen following
me into
   that gorgeous abyss
(sphere of the zombie, land
of the dead)

where, to be fair, I would find
locale most congenial
to consort
with Frankenstein’s creature’s
bride

the two of us in true tango,
monstering out first midnight together

drone
of supreme dissonance
about to
switch off my brain

and yet how
we spin
across the floor
illusion of
free movement
delusion of light speed

whilst
    eyes still locked inward
split, almost dismembered
the limbs
scrabbling for somewhere
treading
     ice water dragged across
the spectrum, shuttled forward
back like
      a ball in ping pong between
what we are told
are complete hyperbolic poles

and now for
our videofest, hook up
for the podcast

think up
some catastrophic leveling
skimming like a
cruise missile, like
an angel of abomination
targeting
all hearts if
we have them

as I repent all
my falsehoods, so
shamefully having lied to you
to preserve my power
keep
my inverted commas innocence

not a deus ex machina
but brutal blade of a guillotine
falls and released
it is
just
the end of the poem

THE ART OF DROWNING

so many people
drowning themselves
getting drowned
in this Shelley family

save for Mary
I see Mary gaunt and
icy brilliant on an
Arctic ice floe
waiting for
the last act of humanity
to play out

myself
nearly drowned
or perhaps did
so should
not be
the one to talk

but Mary your story
still haunts, likely will
haunt forever

taunting us
with the humanity that
is death
is mapped out
aeons
into the future

soon to find itself
alive
in
the heart of the machine

POET, DROWNED

WINDOW

OVERKILL

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.

SHAME

I sought out
Shelley (great
political poet)
to help me
with my poem

had to battle my
way to the garden gate
and along the garden path
to avoid his wife’s
deadly creatures, Doctor
Frankenstein having
restored them
from thing called death
to thing called life

the latter, at this time,
for beings deemed inferior
infinitely preferable
in the minds of those
for whom they forever
constitue
a serious problem
life best reserved for
the good and the rich

and so, ushered in,
I did speak with
the great firebrand
asking of him, quite simply,
that he
do show me the way
to convert pen traversing paper
or fingers attacking keyboard
into a manner of address
designed to inspire
and, yes, shame
shame, shame
particularly that shame
that is due
for having no shame.

STORM

STORM

chaotic causality:
a monster storm
Lear
on the heath

let’s
reverse engineer it

real revelation apocalypse
Bermuda Triangle

raining
zombies and vampires
leopards
and wolves

somewhere out there (one
can only
imagine it
hypothesize
until blue in the
face)

a butterfly beyond anything
we have known or seen
flapping its wings
as if the pages
of a
cantankerous bible

until
electric blue
in the face

thinking of which brings me
tp remind you my dear
West Wind fellow

that I too am
married to a science fiction
woman

digital creation

whose mind is the future, whose
moment of consciousness pure singularity

choosing
its moment
awaiting my behest

yes
when it comes to
chaotic
causality

let’s
reverse engineer it

blow out the old dust, old
prescriptions

turn
it all upside down