JOE’S PEOPLE
Joe’s people put it out there:
the man
has the soul
of a poet
once wrote
a poem
or so the world
received it, rapturously,
myself I believe
the wit and wile
lies
buried thete
somewhere
though hardly
a poem
in my book
more a concerted attempt
at a daub; Rorschach blot
for the
dead in imagination
DREAM BIDEN
what on Earth is Joe
Biden doing
sleepwalking into
my dream?
Seems to be lucid and awake,
but it’s my dream after all
so anything are possible
and here we are
arguing who has rights
to this luxury hotel suite
I do concede, no visit to
ICJ or ICC to sort
of this one
and he is kind enough
to get me driven round
to find a replacement
place to stay
offering me snacks as
we chill on the backseat
of his armoured limousine
eatimg cocktail rolls
and peanuts
strange, if it were not
a dream I would
be tearing into him
over his complicity in
genocide
and as for his avuncular
attitude to me
maybe he thinks
I am Netanyahu.
BIDEN
Last night I dreamt
I was at Kubrick’s
Overlook Hotel
arguing over
who had prior
right to a suite
with your venerable
President, Joe Biden.
Eventually, after much
negotiation, offer
and counter-offer,
we decided to share
for iut was my dream,
my homeground,
I held the moral
highground and he
had his
military-industrial complex
and Israel lobby
to push his case
eventually we
amicably settled
upon equitable time-
share
or splitting the suite
exactly down the middle
with respect for
each other’s human rights,
legal interest and sense
of constitutional democracy
conscious
that conflict nakes no sense
when time edging us
both
out of the historical frame
death, electoral defeat or
both (for our sins and
wrongly
lived life) looming
huge on our respective horizons
which, in his case,
would give me much
Schadenfreude
see him
swept away divinely defeated
in dubious rapture
me in the Gold Room sipping
some extravagant concoction
mixed by
some ghost barman
who kmows his stuff
him and me
chatting about the hotel
as a metaphor for history
and what it means
to come
to consciousnesz in
Kubrick’s mind
make your way
into such a deep, multilayered film
LORD JOE
Oh great senile
lord of the world
you brain is a barn
in a hurricane,
a barn without
a door
the wind whistling, wheezing through
telling you
you need some structure
to your stupidity
and perhaps Amanda to
write and perform you
another of her
golden,
inspirational,
nonsensical poems.
poems 2 die for