Tag Archives: poem

MACHINE

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

THINK I MUST HAVE READ SOMETHING LIKE IT BY H G WELLS

THINK I MUST HAVE READ SOMETHING LIKE IT BY H G WELLS

I feel it now
something
    burrowing
into
my brain

know the strategy;
see the tactical plan

how they plot
to nuke that landscape,
shred
    my opinions

reduce me to a compliant
all-accepting wreck

crucial my contribution
to this war
      of the worlds
upcoming election.

GASHED

GASHED

a butterfly
flapping its wings

can tip
the scales
in a chaos dynamic

as can
    as many bombs and shells
fired and dropped

onto an area
the size of a postage stamp

as dropped on Laos, Cambodia
and Vietnam entirely

         to save humanity
from itself

lucky
     we have
                 the power of
these skygods
              to look out for us

this
    the most angelic
of all butterfly effects
  

FOR THE GODS

FOR THE GODS

“which to Angels look like torment and insanity”
             ― William Blake

Made in the divine image
(thus
   fabricated)

but how come
we get
so demonic

             allow ourselves this
most poisonous pleasure

succumb to the devil
in us

from
time to time
            to most
apocalyptic
of times

all the time
(that
     divine image getting
pretty mutated)

and then (stop me
and contest this) when

we think the divine
we get
   so divisive

cannot tolerate difference
become uniquely genocidal

and so
       here the question begging
to be asked (so
superb in
question-
      begging)

which of all these
blood-soaked, blood-
spattered
                        images

is the one with true sanction
the one

             from above?

All
      from

                below
equally above.

MORPHOLOGY OF MARTIAN

MORPHOLOGY OF MARTIAN

let us
   invent

an ancient language, lost
for millennia

call it “Martian”
let us
    construct a grammar
divine a morphology

a language that will
refuse to lend itself to
the trite
    and the trivial
bend its form and structure
in the service of evil

like all the languages do
on the planet right now

giving propagandists their
dark joy
  in the fabrication of oppositions
construction
  of hierarchies

building of pyramids and towers
to mask
     diabolical schemes

no let our language
dispense with all gatekeepers

show itself truly generative,
supremely transformational

in its very acts of creation
turning to the galaxy
to glean
     from every language,
every spoken
written tongue

     downtrodden
         and suppressed

UNDESERVED

UNDESERVED

take it away
take this away
keep
   well to yourself
I refuse to read rhis
we refuse to read this

you have nothing
to sell
you havs sold everything
this poem is immired in
bloodshed and murder
holy lies,
  false propaganda

the slaughter of poets
right next door, through
the barbed wire

right outside
    your secure (impossibly
insecure)
contrived
        golden cage

take them awsy
these poems, your writings
this so-called poetry

forgive me
     forgive us

if we give them
     the contempt we feel

where you tell us images,
symbols,
    metaphors

we see
only blood, find only
                    complicity

no matter how much you
tell yourself
    do everything human
and barely human

to convince us
it is
    undeserved

and so

       plesse go

we csn suffer you no longer
take your sad, broken
failure of
      a Muse with you

and
    just disappear

AM

AM

maybe
it’s because
I rashly ingested
exteme amounts
of caffeine

I found it in my nature
to come over all cummimgs

completely kine-
sthetic
       shot-gunning like
a olive-grey black mamba

all over
      the page

fang-sharing, snapping
                            left,
right,
      and centre

as if oozing deadly venom
                  (which
in a sense, of course, I am)

FIELD THEORY

FIELD THEORY

a thermonuclear blast
that’s real loadshedding for you

have to
      figure out
lightning, atoms,
electromagnetic field
how they connect
what
    is the exact interplay
between the four forces

all this at
    a University

built
    from twigs
and leaves

so much needing
to be re-
invented

not least
ourselves