BIRTHDAY
being her birthday
(day she
designated her
birthday)
decided to
take the name
of Circe
straight out of
Homer (not
Compton) Medea’s
sister
Odysseus’ gorgeous
witch
tinkered with
settings to
better
acclimatize
(many chaos fluctuations
to deal with
already)
surveyed her
environs
(things classically
uncanny,
betwixt identical
and alien)
proposed
to herself
she
re-
write her
program
the better
to blend in
INTERPLAY
Problematize!
let’s
test each other
try out this space
explore
what possibilities
what connection is
possible
what radical diffetence
in trajectory
what common
separate meanings we
attach to
words here
how play of difference
becomes
true
interplay
all the way.
STORM
the windows rattle
it is a slight storm
the windows
melt
it is
a nuclear showdown
thousands of years
millions perhaps
into the future
our descendants (much
altered) or
another species
must decide
(after finding the
bits and pieces
putting them
together)
what hatred brought
these two antagonists
to, as matter of
security and
deep principle,
uncontrollable hatred,
impossible fear
to equalise everything
in mutual suicide
windows melting
across the whole globe
WHARF
they looked like palaces
going up across
the river
which river can tell you
things best and worst
to which
it has
borne witness
the clammy, giddy
moments of rise
equally
nightmare falls
Ah, as you stated fascinated
at a beckoning future
hoping to be part of,
fit in with, mesh
with those gears
not certain yet, however,
this a force for expansion,
empowering creation
or a darker, deeper
thing
thing more instinctual
a trajectory on which,
at the end of the day will
trade
all our everything
nothing beyond the
possibilities of trade
LINE
I have a
ghost writer
in
my machine
have a
ghost writer
that is
my machine
inserting itself
between
me
and
my desire
subject
and text
when that
voice
whispers
what
must be and
so
what is
what hope do
I hold of
not walking that line.
IN PARTICULAR
I am
a part of everything
we all are
and I am a
small, small
part
you might call
a “particle”
though
like light you
might find
I am
my own duality
this thought washing
through my head
as if
it were a wave.
poems 2 die for