LATER
we have
to protect you
it is our
legal right
our supreme duty
your sacred obligation
to allow
us to do what we
need to do
for you
hate speech
will hurt you horribly
break you, destroy
you
and so
a freedom
we cannot possibly allow
can’t let it
get to you, consume you
whatever it takes
to protect you
even if we have to
blow your brains out
at point blank range
these the lengths
we prepared to go
you
may thank us later
POTATOES
potatoes
are no ways
hypocrites
even if
hiding the meat
beside them
cabbages
do not plot
against constitutional
free speech
rhubarb grows tall
neither by
virtue of
disinformation, nor
by spin
or misdirection
they take the world as it is
do not cater to its functions
and fictions
are there
to be eaten
PENMAN
saw those old school
photos yet once more
(was looking for something
relevant
and they just
fell down)
so angelic that face and
mop of blonde curls
would seem to have
“grows up to become
cruel spree-killer
written
all over him”
so easy to strip, lock and
load an automatic weapon
after careful study
(nose buried
in that manual)
so much harder a labour
filling basket after basket
with failute, screwed
up paper
battling the odds
to pen a poem
M (for MISTAKEN)
one of us
be destined to
pop first
skin getting thin thin thin
under oxygen helium
pressure
way to go
at last birthday
or
aiming for the Heavens
aspiring
for it all
golden ring atop
that pole
start to channel
the music of the spheres
as giddy we stretch
to embrace
the stratosphere
but here again
skin to thin and
little big bang
be our evaporation
Oh I saw that film
the red balloon
cried like a child
because I was one
caught betwixt and between
a life that has been loneliness
a death that is nothing
nothingness
unless
I am totally mistaken
PEEL ME
peel me
a grape
bottle
me some
lightning
split me
an atom
so much in
this world
we are
determined
to divide
but
refuse
to share
maybe there
can never be a
balance
between self
and other
only the beautiful
futile uselessness
of desire
STUCK
stuck a mirror
on the wall
opposite
the shelves
containing
my kingly
horror collection
clown
down the drain
Jack so dull
when the words
not flowing
wonder
what bricked up
behind these booksp
(technically closet
skeleton can
never
read
its reflection)
mirroring these spines
such a blessing
that when I die
they
will not need
to search
to find whereupon
read
scare themselves
to death
ROME
Rome knocked
on my window
Rome
punched through
my front door
not sure if it were
a cohort or a maniple
dragged me
off away
with them
fired a bullet
through my bedroom
(so ahistorical and
anachronistic)
blood everywhere
now I have to pledge
my death
to please latest
golden boy Emperor
in his Colosseum
STATE OF AFFAIRS
I love the look
of your means
of production
I could sit in
the museum
theorizing it
all day
every day
hoping that
through dialectical
process we
might find us
a solution
synthesis
antithesis, these
historical forces
delivering a resolution
to our
charged
state of affairs.
FAT
soon, everything
will have had
enough of us
the planet
will refuse to look us
in the face
species by species
they
die on us
fall
by the wayside
so fat on the proceeds
of this treasure-trove
we have
allowed ourselves to grow
refuse
to stop growing
poems 2 die for