
HOLE


BURN
life is not
margarine
spread liberally itself
across crisp, crusty
oven-
fresh bread
yellow golden
no
life is that
which sticks and
burns
rips off your charred skin
falling from Heaven
like napalm,
white phosphorous
or those cluster
people killers
that break into toy-size
teeny-tiny
run like Cristiano
fast and zig-
zag as
you can
across the entire Nou Camp
a bomblet
will find you
mind body problem
nothing in the body
the mind
has not figured, over-
thought
how to how to
horrendously kill
but the Sun continues
for millions of years
this avatar of hierarchy
will
seem so god-
like, be
forever shining
until
like us
it get old, fat and greedy
swallow
the Earth entirely
desperate for survival;
new stuff to burn



DEMONIC
you were once
labelled love synonymous
but now
we decided
we like you callous and cruel
prefer you
as death threat
happy if you love the
hate we have become
as we further warp
and twist our image
knowing it to be divine
by sacred
definition
no matter how
much
it murderously delight
in how demonic
it has
grown
YOU
you, whom I love,
who twice
(not once)
gave me
the gift of life
who are you?
where
are you?
nothing of what I am told
can I longer believe
imagining writing the text
saying the words that
will change the picture
transform
everything
but there you are, at
my level,
down to my
size
picking up stones
rooting through the rubble
lest there be those
lost and forgotten
erased by history
needing to be
found
restored to memory

OMELETTE
“you egg!”
Macbeth,
Act 4, Scene2
make for
bizarre bedfellows
lead to
crazy places
they definitely do
Darwin
to the jackboot
merry old Malthus
to the electric fence
dingy ripped
and ravaged
upon the ocean
propaganda as truth
set up in best
civllized dress
but slice and dice
whichever way you cut it
there is just too much egg;
today too many eggs
which are
not to preferred taste
being of the wrong shape
and size and
State-approved colour
hence the forever
Napoleonic solution
of
military omelette

DARK
Oh, what a burden you wear
my Prince of shadow
hard not to think of you
head-to-toe in black
the state
is a lie
your castle
is death
your family
a prison
and behind this sweet tragedy
what writer has
contrived
to conceal what
might be
close to this bone
this sepulcher of a stage
littered
with all we have
come to hate and love
and thus History arriving
(as it tends to) with
an army
new flags, iconography,
presence of dawn
this the
poet knows, indeed
seems steeped in, riddled
with it
something here
so consummately dark.


JUNGLE GYM
I ate my jungle oats
you are your jungle oats
you ate my jungle oats
I ate your jungle oats
we ate our own and
each other’s jungle oats
not at the watering hole
but in bed together
you telling me that aliens
came to this planet Janet
tens of thousands of
years ago
as is recorded on
scroll and parchment
to build the pyramids
and screw
our woman
the former with sonic resonance
and photon matter creation
technology
maybe, safe to say,
pretty much
the latter too
and you trying to tell
me that
Noah’s Ark was actually
a saucer-shaped vehicle
(like alien craft on the cover
of an
Amazing Stories 50s Sci-Fi
magazine)
nothing more lewd or leering
than one of those aliens
desperate for
the feeling of humanoid
tits and shit
and me making all sorts
of irreverent and disgusting
sexual puns
during the entirety of
her discourse
obviously not the kind of
civilized fore and interplay
that would lead
with neat evolutionary
procreative logic
to our own little
trans-linguistic
conjugation
and most
intimate and
nearest thing
to
cosmic encounter of
way more
than three-dimensional kind




EQUATION
energy
is mass
and space
and time
are
money
me
I wasted my
time
studying
philosophy
writing poetry
so can tell
your what’s-the-
matter
moment is
pure
postmodern
spiritual existential
ennui of life in a
post material age
nobody
offers a phosopher
a penny for
his
a shilling for
her thoughts
or to speak
the value or meaning
of anything these
days
just nowhere
for the human
mind to expand
and all
that wasted
storage space
BONEY
I apologize
for not having watched
your film yet
(hope it will
be as
good as Gladiator
in which you
played an
entirely
different character)
my supreme Leo commander!
let me kick this off directly
by telling you
how
much I love that hat
would
(if indeed I had one)
surrender
my Empire
for that hat
which to me seems so solar
to
proclaim you
as Helios himsrlf
on top of your head on entire
solar hemisphere
(rising,
setting)
of course, the hemisphere
below supplied
by the bottom
of your
now
my
gigantic head
Empire for your bicorne
hat
being
our fair trade
nothing could be nore
Napoleonic
be about continuaton
of your legacy
not even
ten ghousand
YouTube videos on
your rise
to power, sweet
Josephine
and the utter tactical
brilliance of
Austerlitz itself
than me
wearing that bicorne bonnet
en bataille