poem – Page 225 – poems 2 die for

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE libraries of law rendered irrelevant thanks to an insult of a defence premised on the untenable presented as if it were an ad campaign and all we have now is shark in the tank and biggest gets to eat everything great white nosing its way in speed huge as a submarine think it’s just going to laugh if I proclaim myself to have court protection, have injunction, cease fire, have restraining order catch all those rows of serrated teeth last laugh is his I believe

PHYSICAL CONDITION

PHYSICAL CONDITION a nation of physicists how can I emigrate to them? will there be a test? will I be able to smooth myself in cope with this supremacy? for they live in this world with one foot in another ocean an ocean whose true depth will never be measured my mind struggling to calibrate itself to embrace all possibilities shape myself in line in order to become a natural naturalized citizen only world to my mind has any pretence of any hold on reality

DOOM

don’t
tell us
our propaganda
is shit

don’t tell us
it is anything
but fabulous

to fail to observe
these commandments

will result in you being
accurately smeared
as racist fascist

we have spent many long years
working on our narrative
wondering exactly
how to defeat
and deal
with tripe
like yours

indoctrinate your readers
confuse the
understanding of
your audience

fix every issue
of reception
to give our human evil
all the deception
we deem necessary

establish
a watertight premise
or so
it would appear

and
so we now must warn you
advice you should take
not leave

do not
follow the same old same
old bad
satirical strategy

of hoping to throw enough of
these bad, insultive,incorrect
unrhymed poems

at the wall
hoping, presuming

one will stick

stuck
right next to the spot
where the finger emerges
and commences writing

a text
of commeasurate anger

words
of exact same doom

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

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

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

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)

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)