NOT THAT I AM SAYING
my poem
is behind this wall
covered in fog, behind
a veil,
written
in an impenetrable code
guarded and gatekept
against each
and every
accusation
of inhumanity
readers who are likely to
misread, misunderstand, come
to a wrong conclusion
must take care to
check the red sniper dot
bouncing around their head
not that I am saying
or would want you to infer
that I have scoped you
out
from pride
of place and indeed have
you diabolically targeted
SPECTACLES
my spectacles
are too foggy
for this world
this world
is too foggy
for these
spectacles
you may
call this
serendipity
but I call
it shit
unable to
see anything
past my
nose
no hope of
validating
even the mildest
of all
these
global
conspiracies
some
of course
with their
own spectacular fog machines
CONSIDERATION disconnect uncouple float around taking it all in the beauty the existential the abstract all that is in this supposed simulation riven with torture carnage unspeakable pain and why if it is all a phantom supremely a fiction why is it of such deadly import what we think, what we say why are there lies we must all be cultivated to believe in propaganda from Heaven every single say
OF THE AGE lies live lies survive lies fly all over the place so much destruction in their wake their instinct being to replicate split like mutant cells divide and be careful how you yourself do define for here service to the lie loses the light goes completely blind for shadow has shown too easy it be to mistake the love of a death embrace become the thing we fear we hate the beautiful hypocrite of the age the lie in us so consummate
OVAL
you came
with a circus
rather than a circle
of light
not a
show for the collective
but for
the singarity
the very concept of
the whole
flattened
into
an oval
the fruit of your tree
so unquestionably
pear-shaped
HOLES
there are holes in the paper
places of quicksand
the words cannot
traverse this broken landscape
move at pace
across the page
shocktroop you with
tactical juxtapositions,
lightning images
no
the whole nature of
poetry has changed
those books on mechanized modernism
so obsolete (ultimately
so) better
thow
them away
only good
for metaphor
subtext is where
the power now
lies
RANCH (BACK AT THE) here’s a tough thought for a tough time anarchy fresh from the UK back at the ranch we desperately playing scrabble to unscramble everything twisted out of shape fallen out of line as definition drifts; seems like we fresh out of tiles to tile subtle find our groove, roof liberty’s lexicon (defunct form roof) make what will stand outstand outlive this funk test of time (canary in a cage) as our mosaic now wakes (leave this here as my missive on our most ambitious take)
EVERYTHING
here is
a theory
no one
can understand
here
is a poem
no one
can understand
and you
look flustered
wanting to
understand
everything
so many
would like
to understand
everything
help them
to destroy everything
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
NO EASY MEASURE
there are many ways
to start a poem
maybe an image, a theme
a rhythm
bouncing
around in your head
snake-like
rasp of word
many ways too,
to enter a poem
linear or
non-linear
syntactic
or symbolic
feeling your way
set to full tactile
or up
for helicopter shot
to view
as mosaic
put
everything
in perspective
then
fill in the detail
induced, deduced
seduced
at your pleasure
although
linger on
this thought
if you will, let us dissect
this
dark treasure
only
fair to point out,
to leave a poem, however,
(speaking
of seduction)
is no
easy measure
here is the poem
here is we are
unexpectedly
together
not so many ways down
from that height
this height,
routes
out of the labyrinth
this
labyrinth
safe and
without cost
hardly enough
to count on the
fingers
of one hand
so many surrendered
to the poem, dissolved,
got
absorbed by
poetry
something about
the beauty
of this python still
to comprehend
as it
closes the circle
you now mine forever
poems 2 die for