ocean

DOVETAIL

the days dovetail
they print out
dot matrix
dolphin death to life
life to death
across the tawny edges
of the bottle blue/green sea

stuff
out there arcing
in and out of the water
my life
so flat by comparison
when I want
to am asked to
speak up speak out
my squeak
of a voice drowned out
by crescendo of a wave
mighty
as those at Nazare

and to think, metaphysically,
long as, I can remember,
I longed
for fluidity

inclining
towards the deep, I searched
for quantum level
affinity

and now
the deep, unannounced,
breaking protocol,
coming to find me,

no idea
of the rationale, no

idea what this means

the days dovetail
someone out there
could be
so kind as
to dump to print

Raymond
your ashes resting
somewhere in
that great
Pacific Ocean

together there
with your beloved wife

would travel there
to pay homage
except you
left me
no money
not a cent, not
a dollar
(each one of
which much
South African money)

so much for
exchange value and
the price paid
for poetry

you a scientist yourself
of fundamental
life chemistry
told me
you did not could
not believe in
the crazy
madness of the quantum
whose most
attuned minds find
it hard if not
impossible to
plainly explain

and so
we agreed to disagree
at moment
somewhat before
you died (final
collapsing of
our wave front)

PIsceans both:
let us leave it to ocean
to have the last word

make of us
what it will.

OCEAN

AT LEAST

O PROSPERO

LIONHEART

LIONHEART Oh Mars Oh Venus saw Richard F surfing bonkers bongo through the quantum foam at CALTECH there is a box inside which is a box containing a cat being thought experimented by Erwin Schrodinger but Niels Bohr proclaims the only language of the atom to be poetry whilst which Richard handles every marauding Pacific great white with aplomb conjuring up the body of Aphrodite as subatomic delight (being born under Taurus, her love sign) and this this mess my pen itself insists I write down to every point of gravity every unique quark

SWAN SONG

SWAN SONG

was singing the multiverse
thinking of travelling under
an alien ocean
in Nemo’s submarine

light years from our home planet
travelling metres deep
twenty thousand leagues
under that sea

the pressure getting to me
rivets popping

no one
able to make sense of my
song
as it rises from alien
depths to cultivated surface

finding the ears
of beings like me except
they have
neither space, nor time

for outlandish things