CURVATURE

CURVATURE

wholly complicit
she

observes how the light
dapples her desk

take a
counter to her
and
she will not
stop ticking

good sign!

neat how
just a word
from her physics Professor
can break this reverie
bring her
back to reality (so-
called)

him within which
expounding at length
on the cast-iron
laws of
repulsion, attraction;

the sheer number
of white-hot articles published
hourly, daily,
emanating
out of this machine

testament to how
slowly the Universe
has slowed down
(no quick
       big crunch less
than than
lovingly speaking)

still locked
and loaded, explosive,
                   keen on expanding

whilst the warmth
of that afore obliquely
hinted at
      solar radiation

runs up her arms
pours down her neck

leaving her
         ripe for anything

feeling never before so
cute and
astute, philosophically awake

ready to
deal with dark energies,
dark matter
across
    whatever distance

strip
back that veil

trace (her
very first blueprint)

the soul of her curvature,
all curvature
    as it makes its way

NO WORRIES

NO WORRIES

no worries
be not alarmed

all she is quantum
physicist slash leather biker
cosmologist

spouts electro-
magnetism and
I could die for that tune

oh when those words
hit me
    bumper to
bumper
(brutal the noise they make
down that Shannon
Weaver channel)

pretty quickly better
wheel me to launch pad
announce to Mr Musk
that she
gone lit my fuse

get NASA and the Ruskies
to clear
     my trajectory
find

a love conducive planet
where
     we can
make our home

in the goldilocks zone (and
one two
three
bares)

we can do
     that fantasy

the gravity little
atmosphere
    care free
                 kindly
Xenomorph of
       utopian politics and
soft
   epistemologies

so me and my cosmologist
can feedback loop gone
apeshit

obscenely cybernetic in
cute sexual secrecy
   

ZERO GRAVITY

ZERO GRAVITY

the freethinkers
were free writing

down in the valley
up on the mountaintop

low
they dived
high
       they soared

ascended
      descended

caught the air currents
went where they pleased

leaner lighter
heavier
more slow

someone please inform them
there is nothing
without boundary

no
   clock set
to run minus

whatever the sages
of relativity pronounce
on the matter

zero gravity only
in an inertial frame

PLASMA (POEM FOR CARLOS SANTANA)

PLASMA (POEM FOR CARLOS SANTANA)

say it was gradual
no big bang but
some
   kind of inflation

whereupon in this
fable
     gas clouds gravity
stars
      plasma

hydrogen helium
smorgasbord of elements

and you
      subject of
every song

Muse of
   every meditation

you every delicious atom
of your loveliness
from
   an entirely different star

Oh baby
    reminding me tonight
of that crucible
perfect furnace

and then
        soul, word,
music

constellation
        gnosis between galaxy
upon galaxy

ocean upon ocean

you wrestling with that
red python
    on the Woodstock stage

(if you don’t mind me saying so)
cosmos coursing through you
         

COLLIDE

COLLIDE

you cannot
deploy a screwdriver
to fix
the world

will set you
on a collision course
with hi-tec
cerebral
    high minded people

intellectual
salt of the Earth

nor light you turn
to instrument more organic
warmer, softer
of shape less regular
(but in the same
ball park
when it comes
to visual metaphor
and the logic of dream)

a tried and
trusted mechanism
evolved over aeons

shuttle-slide into action
same principle as self-
loading but
hopefully more
symphonic

yes
and stumbling into
sympathy, empathy
let us consider
the heart that
lies at the heart
of all these hydraulics

lies
at the heart but hopefully
speaks the truth,
       it’s truth

so much in the joy of cataclysm
pumped into the air
that doesn’t even make sense
scarcely comes
in syllables

a waste of good carbon therefore
every breath here expelled

and that is without even
bothering to consider
the happy physics
of all those mouth-centred
mechanisms
fuelling such
soft collision

loosening, tightening
the screws that hold this all
in frame
    keeps the picture
together
twenty four seven
      or frames
per second

as metaphor much needed
in the heart of the night
some
    scarcely even poetic
fit just right

CLOUDLESS

CLOUDLESS

a cloudless sky
stopped my scarlet red
Citroen
  to open the farm gate

cannot pretend to
understand the physics of
colour or
   indeed, the physics
of sky
you lost me as soon
as you spoke of wave-lengths
and light diffusion

but here we are (or at least, here
I am, your presence with me
somewhere
  between metaphor and
simple rhetorical gesture)

here we are
as if shielded from
the Universe (which is
the case exactly) virtue of
us being
    (no clouds
to distract me) right
at the epicentre of
a surrounding sphere, looking
out from
inside the skin, the translucent
skin
   of a beautiful blue ball

expanded to a size, a height,
that just works for us perfectly

reminding me
        as this time of ultra
advanced return
of feudalism
              of the music
of the spheres

with all that economy
with all that cosmology

nothing in a million years here close to
      that darkest conclusion

that things beyond this
blue bubble

moving away from us so fast
they are
beyond
all
   Doppler red-
shift
     beyond very
                  speed of light

and
so

back down
       to Earth as always
for
sheer preservation
of sanity, not

        let all this here
overwhelm me

wanting
those clouds back

wanting not to imagine myself
inside the skin
of anything

wanting
to just go
       where it is all heading
commit
to that glow

   light speed beyond
but (blessing of
relatvity) with it

one
    feels

                just
floating

moving in one’s mind
from
      incarnation to
incarnation

no desire
     to be laboured by

understand
the physics at all

PHYSICAL CONDITION

PHYSICAL CONDITION a nation of physicists how can I emigrate to them? will there be a test? will I be able to smooth myself in cope with this supremacy? for they live in this world with one foot in another ocean an ocean whose true depth will never be measured my mind struggling to calibrate itself to embrace all possibilities shape myself in line in order to become a natural naturalized citizen only world to my mind has any pretence of any hold on reality

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