ZOMBIE
thought it waa
a zombie
but it was
the Muse
of poetry
would trade
me inspiration for
best part of my brain
thought it must
be a vampire
but it was
my most
cultivated reader
a gallon of best
universal donor special
for what
sounds like sincere praise
INCIDENTAL
farm told me
(all the leaves, plants, creatures)
we not
integral
we incidental
not the place to
which all road
and rail leads
like we eternal
station central
no
here where green
proclaims its domain,
its power so
insistent
may flash
a hint, a glimpse,
of that
we forsook, place
we abandoned,
upped
and right out left
a paradise, albeit the odd
viper eyeing me out there,
studded with
the occasional ambush predators
(MORE) FOOL YOU
may
seem like
think me
the fool
but
it just
a ruse
got so
much danger
about me
got to
travel incognito
or shapeshift
too and fro
back
and forward
in the blink
of am eye
one second you
canoodling
with tje Queen
of Cups;
the next
King of Swords
got sabre swishing
an imch from
your eye
but no fear
no worries, not
here
to let you die
when can do
deepet damage
deploy
more potent powers
ride
like death across your
inner landscape
unhinging all those
towers that
so
need to fall
for the good of us all
Sun card, Star card
and the
World
hete in choir
arcana of consensus
CEILING
nothing Sistine
about my ceiling
just plain off-white,
not sure whether
the paint they used
would count
as matt
or gloss
tradesman’s work, not
a hint here of Renaissance genius
and then the light fitting
hard to see a noted design style
at play here
and this the ceiling
through which
my soul must no doubt
travel to meet
my God
for which I believe
it will have to serve,
will serve well
staring at the ceiling
as night descends
just
a trick of the light all
that it might take
to set me off
soaring
no g force attendant on
this acceleration
all just
practice
to
test my engines
fins and wings
missile myself mentally
running through all
that is
required
practice making perfect
as every evening at dusk
I put
myself through the motions
prepare
for the real thing with
every single
imaginary run
MONSTER
the monster
has no poetry
no mirror
in.which to
see itself
as it truly is
jist murdee
which it sings
as its songs,
its advertizing
jungles;
do not expect
me to
elegize,
lamemt the monster
when it is gone
NORM
Norm speaks
slowly
takes
his time
guess it wouldn’t
make sense
for the voice
of truth
and justice
to go racing car
every syllable
pages of reference
legions of footnotes
underpinning
the logic of a bulldozer
when he gets into gear
when he swats your
feeble premises aside
with such ease
how did you even
fool yourself
you had any chance
that the fairy tale
you tell
comic that
you are
might stand its ground?
ONE AND ONLY
imagine
you are one
moment
naked in
the street
in Hamburg
the one before
in Strawberry Fields
with Yoko
the next
being introduced to
Paul
the next being blown
away by a jealous soul
with a snub-
nosed special
imagine a
world become
so non-linear
everything you are and were
revolving forever on a carousel
imagine that you
are
have become
none other
than
Mr Sergeant Pepper’s
one and
only Billy Shears
poems 2 die for