SPACE
there is no
absolute space
distance
is relative
watch me
before your
very eyes
wrinkle up
into a chrysalis
emerge at the end
of the day (my
long night)
steel-winged sharp
ready
to fly
and you so
spaced-out
you readily
comprehend
if only you might let
me search, find your button,
switch to
transformation
together we could soar
without end; without end
DOUBLE-SPEAKERS
double-speakers
demon-reapers
seem to be trying
to reverse
polarities, change
the direction of the
Earth’s spin
(counter-clockwise just
not doing it
for them)
Oh, how their lies
have grown and prospered
high towers of
Empire brick and
mortared from
so much
crushed bone
and always
same tune, old words,
old laws
and prohibitions
jazzed, re-
fashioned to fit
the glitz of
an age
double-speakers
forked-brain thinkers
trouble-
breeders
in the extreme
you
will be
the death of us
our death
our human
mutilation
as you
have been,
throughout history
from
word first
recorded
so many
millions and now
perhaps billions
lives of suffering
to attest to this
TITLE PAGE
I close the book on you
hear you worming your way
from page to page
soon we shall be
at the end
of our story
could try to track you down
strive to find you
wondering
how our stories now conclude
which no longer
speak to each other
of eacj other
are so fully finally intertextual
might not be in the same library
any world of shared
heart or
mind
stuck barely between
the covers
on the title page.
HIBERNATING
hibernating
on the farm
closing my eyes
to all the missiles
and bombs
do not think
there is the nightmare
to match this
as inexorably, inevitably
it gets ratcheted up
to an extinction exchange
and the world ending
and me deep sleeping
and the Universe
going its own way
doing its own thing
for physics only
knows how
many odd billion years
dream
themselves away
DOWN TO SIZE
I have no memory
it has all gone
maybe
it was never there
in the first place
maybe someone
somebodies
came in
the middle
of the night
sliced
it out of
my head
did something
unspeakable
that cannot
be spoken
so many words
too many to cope with
need to cut
them
down to size
thing
not to forget
resist
not realize.
THE WIND CAME
the wind came
blew me to
Timbuktu
all of which time
I found myself praying
that it might treat
you more softly
gently, with
more care
waft you
somewhere that
could not be more
congenial
more conducive to
the realisation of
all your basic
and
more intimate
desires
viewed from
where I find myself
so
far, far, far
from you
KEY
I turned
your key
and your clockwork
went off the wall
symbols crash clashing
wheels spinning crazy
what a heavenly
cacophony
music to these
tender ears.
EXCEPTIONAL
death will not
be satisfied with
simply thousands
death wants
millions, billions,
that’s the price
that was set
and will be paid
if this
were not so
why do you think
death had to invent
comets, supervolcanoes,
meteors, rogue asteroids?
to supplement the vast varieties
of weapons of mass destruction
its most beloved
of all
species
happened to event
including, not exclusively,
the vast thermonuclear arsenals
huge stockpiles of
megaton, kiloton
missiles and bombs
sheer numbers here
dictated by the laws
of necessity
of supply and
demand
and exceptional theory, but
sadly it ends here
with the demise of
its authors
of whose disappearance
the rest of the Universe
could
not give a damn
THE LIGHT
they switched off
the light
but could not
switch it back on again
or maybe
just refused
leaving the world
nor in state of day
neither that of night
just in that limbo darkness
betwixt and between
where all
their machinations
burgeon and thrive
reducing the value of
all that is
loved, all
that is life
taught
from the cradle to do so
finding this state
of being so
infinitely agreeable
BET YOU
bet you
you read this wrongly
take it
the wrong way
to a wrong place
against
the grain
exult in your power
as supreme
bad reader
sorry to
point this out
rain on your
May Day parade
of tanks
and workers
but everybody
misreads me
it is my fate,
the flaw
in my system
story
of my life
that gets blocked
at the school
board
denounced
in the praesidium
even though
it is all
so unreal
a game,
a mystery within
a mystery
one of those
far-fetched, trying
to push the envelope,
post-
modern, self-
reflexive tales
recounted by the most
untrustworthy of
openly
unreliable narrators
way too
metaphoric of its own
good
mirror image
of the stupid sublimity
of all
cosmic creation
poems 2 die for