APOLOGIA (POUR LE
KAMPFWAGEN)
sorry for
pissing
down
the barrel
of your tank
it is a beautiful tank,
let me
be the first
to admit it:
caterpillar tracks
reverse
forward gears
reactive
armour
(or do you
call it “armor”?)
so beautiful
so precise
I do
not, did not
wish to deride
just mar
its beauty
sully
it forever
least I can do
WHEN IT KILLS
“As with many tragedies, our story opens in a moment of triumph.”
Dan Jones, The Wars of the Roses: The Fall of the Plantagenets and the Rise of the Tudors
Now we
see
how deep indeed
this story goes
how sure
the colour
in the rose
of itself
in every detail
its thorns
the truth
of its beauty’s cruelty
the colour
fixed on absolute
when
it kills.
TRADE SURPLUS
shut up with
this stupidity
are you grooving
into an epoch of
mental deficiency?
just because it is
the sublime will of money
the rapture of
self-serving power
when I see you
talking your processed
speech
I wonder how much
in the way of steel pins
for your face
brass screws
for your teeth
when they resolved
that you should
trade
your humanity
rent out your heart
HALF
these are two
selves
mirror dark
mirror light
mirror day
mirror night
they are
fighting for control
fighting
for your soul
tearing you
down the middle
winner to be
the one
with the bigger bloody
torn off half
COUPLED
be careful
what you
wish for
imagination
coupled
with
distance
is such
a killer
the creature of
my dreams
was
so different
strange, alluring
utterly unique and
exotic
sadly
she is
light years distant
in space
and time
her species across
the galaxy on a
distant
epic planet
however
you do spin it,
her species not having
begun to
truly evolve yet
at least in a direction
I would extremely like
LAST
this should be
my last poem
the process
has become fraught
protection permeable
hostile takeover imminent
constant suppression, much
infiltrating
you look at what
is on this page
ask: is this how
savages, animals
write these days?
and you fighting with every bone,
every breath
for consensus?
so many conceptions, contending
definitions at play
out of this problemmatic
few crossovers, no
idea miscegenation
things you
believed getting tunneled under
tunneled through
and always, still
same overriding question
is this how poetry, a single
poem should look
and then what about
humanity, in what image
a single human?
LOVE THEM (GOT TA)
poets, poets
got to
love them
all shapes
and sizes coming in
fighting
for the light
some pushing, pushing
edge of that envelope
push so hard it
boomerang back courtesy
of curvature of
the Universe
some
dibbing, dabbing
polishing the inside
of that bubble that it shine
like a
jewel and
still
keep its perfect shape
room for both in this place
I say
no lebensraum issue
either way
perfect bubbles and
magic
messages from
the back of beyond beyond
you see
what life be like
without either of them
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
BROKEN
poetry is sublime
code
bought you a nut-
cracker best
to crack it
heard the thunder, saw
the lightning created
by yout exertions
thpught if this
be the reaction
of what we call Nature
tag
as the cosmos
and if sweet Lennon-
McCartney lyrics be
the end
of civilization
what would the lightshow be
like
in store for us
if we were to collide the
exposed
God particles of the cosmos
(beyond
hypothetically)
in order to create singularities
deep underground?
MACHINE
“The autonomous logico-fantastic machine is something I like insofar as (and if) it serves some real need: the need to enlarge the sphere of what we can imagine, and to introduce into our limited range of choices “absolute rejection” by means of a world thought out in all its details according to other values and other relationships.” Italo Calvino
you must have
read this poem yesterday
or maybe you are
planning
to read it
tomorrow
stop me before
I ramble on erroneously:
you may well
have read the poem
today
already
perhaps
you are ahead of me
just how it is
how this machine works:
nature of the game
it could be stone-cold fact
that you
are always ahead of me
maybe you read it
when I was undressed
might have told me
I would have dressed
smartly for you
or gone all Lagerfeld
dressed
to kill
but what use seduction
when I may
well
be dead already?
what use
putting pedal to the metal
linguistically speaking
upping the ante
so that
my words
might touch you well?
you read this poem tomorrow
you read this poem
how things at
that moment dictated
everything
and
short of signalling every cue
or clue
nothing I could do
poems 2 die for