SILLY ME
silly me
how silly could
I be!
all the ills
of the world
I do allow
to make
me
sickly
so please
do not simply
condemn
if in this
fall
from grace
I do
maybe
vomit up the odd
poem
or two
perhaps
quite hideous
possibly
outright
sublime
silly not to factor
all that is genius into
the chaos
of big picture
JIGSAW
Oh its
a fucked up jumbled
jigsaw puzzle
so many pieces lying around
broken
dead
badly mutilated
so much so
impossible to put back
together
never going to get
that slick sick
picture
that had you
sold on the box
HARD CORE
searching for
my inner Bukowski
scanning every word,
inclination
ruthlessly scrutinizing
fastening onto
all the scruffy, seedy places
where, turning over
some unkempt stone,
I might
just find him
turning
the tables upon myself
tables I can now easily
drink each
and everyone
under
sinking my last inspirational shot
to welcome first light of dawn
and
then there are the
creatures of night’s pleasure
I might now
feel
free to consort with
the boxes of cigarettes
stacked mile high
I should
suicidally smoke through
in
the name of art
burnishing an image
burning my trash
openly
on all and sundry’s lawn
that manicured lawn
cropped
close as a Brazilian
delight
in the mind as such
thoughts, hard
to the core just
spurt
from my mouth
AND DICED
Oh the satire
ran away from me
shunned civility,
turned severe
demarcated sharply
for slicing
sheep on the one side
goats on the other
yet
to preserve some
semblance of balance
nothing in the middle
a house divided:
those who laughed
set against
those who cried;
and those, true
to the sport
who both
laughed and cried
and then up
on high prior so
monstrously reversed
those whose guilt of complicity
though masked by
whatever
fake camouflage
ran
horribly
deep
that like Vampires in the light
suddenly stripped of immunity
and with
ripped-off
disguise
all they dare do is lie
down with their victims
(human
at last) wither
and die
(sadly only
metaphorically, in my
wildest imagination, even
though the world,
planet,
cosmos
crying out for justice;
desperate for correction).
BETTER
you want
Peace
here
is your
piece
its
a bit seriously small
too
small
for anything
is bombed-
out; barricaded
but its the most
we are
prepared
to give
most we
dare spare
we openly defy you
to summon
Heaven and Earth
see
if you might do any better
NEAR PLANET CYPRUS
swimming pool breasts
that goddess is
the archetype
of woman
in water
no Pygmalion girl she
no labour of love
to put her
together
she was as add water
instant delight
as they come
stirred
not shaken
(we are the ones Honey
Ryder first
appearance shaken
Mr born-under-
Mars Bond)
and what
a recipe
something went
so wrong with the logic
flummoxed our expectations
gorgeous
complete antithesis of
imagined Kaiju type beast
(unless
as with Troy in absolute
beauty such much greater
capacity for
disaster
causal factor)
even now
plunging me into
state of arousal
suddenly suffused by
the light
of her
near planet
and yet it is for night
one night
I pray in vain to you
would
absolutely cross oceans
swim
out to you
WITHOUT EXAGGERATION
this poem
may,
without exaggeration,
be
the death
of me
even as I write
artificial minds
are reading
between the lines
which lines do not exist
since all
is dust, is code,
is wll that flickers
between
death
and infinity
this I do confide
as we approach a turnstile
time for anxiety should
cards
not be in order
should there be
no automatic passage
from desert
on one hand
to circus on the other
with such
an outside and inside
precipice, blade
of razor
all destined
to endure
system
is forever
our salvation our doom
this poem, without exaggeration,
taking the very life from me
JOY
a god walks the stage
the world in
a state of wonder,
state of fright
loses; forgets
its words
as above
so below
jets and drones
contest the sky
we are below, suffering watching
unless the god
rescinds his
refusal to elevate us
teaches us that which we need
to scoff at this war
thess wars
elevated to the stars
the words that turn
a world streaming out
from under that mask
direct from Olympus, words
to drive insane, turn
upside down
flood with intense
laughter and pain
dark understanding
filled with divine joy
so far beneath him
this thing they
will eventually call
history
terrible in its
truth
a god walks the stage
JERUSALEM
if this is Jerudalem
why do the stones not speak
the very walls sing hossanas?
why does God who owns
both symbolic rights and
ultimate reals estate
command his worshippers
to share, unite,
not flow into that darkness
of which there are no words,
solely mystery
as one continual, endless stream
whose only form and shape
and sense
is blood?
THIS GUITAR
this electric guitar
is singing, screeching
to high Heaven
and the Devil has
promised me a woman
before
I be baked in an oven
roasted in a furnace
reduced to
sentient ash
doomed to suffer forever
the flames
of an intense fire
and this
as fair, reasonable
payment for her beauty,
such beauty
your beaity
creature created to
define and express inner
and outer
the entire limits
of desire
poems 2 die for