BOX SEAT
there is nothimg
in the box
the box
is shrouded
in mystery
someome left
it locked
but now
it has
been opened
the box
is covered with
gold leaf
exquisite
wrapping paper
it must
have been
full
but now
it is empty
shrouded
in mystery
not just
one mystery, either,
a mystery
within
a mystery
once it
was full
(I believe
it was full)
but now
it is empty
EQUATOR
forget boundaries
forget enclosures
here
there are no
prisons for the body
of the soul
there is wide expanse
open sky only
boundless
across the page
between the lines
each and every
three sixty degrees
meridian and back
from pole to pole
twice across
the equator
planet
to galaxy
ocean to ocean
from
the river
to the sea
ANACONDA
reconnoitre
my anaconda
see what proclivity for
algebra
her evil eye
able to solve for the
lengthiest equations
serpentine mind slithering
axiomatically
perfect physique for
quadrilateral equations
pure Amazonian
when
calculus calls
not at all flummoxed
if the ground
should be shifting
Kurt Godel’s theme
of incompleteness
her piece of cake
and if
using her body to
define new systems of geometry
topology
no lever needed
to make her cosmos move
SUGAR MINERS
sugar miners
not for
minors
candy
finders
old joke going back
to the goldrush of 1849
the sweetness they
find down there
a seam so treaty
litigation and issues
of property rights
following
everywhere
but
I bought this face
from a robber baron
could not be
happier
at the game
history played
the dice loaded, the hired help
packing
alternate narrative notwithstanding
this is the way
it has always been
REPUBLICAN
Oh, baby,
you are
so good
so good
to me
take me
to infinity
in a slow, stately,
crazy
turbo-
charged carriage
and we ignore
the clouds, the crowds,
have
no time for people whatsoever
no need to wave and smile
wave and smile
were we
the celebrated figureheads
of some constitutional monarchy
no we screetch and caterwaul
roar and cry
like king and queen, which
we are but
of our animal kingdom
the power to take and shape
and give
back equally
fair just re-
distribution no royal
could dream of
our sweet template for
complete republican
Oh baby
you are so good to me.
ICARUS INSTINCT
I barged into
the temple of
artificial intelligence
stormed out
after dismantling and
indeed liberating
a host of automatic
telling
and vending machines
flew up to the firmament
with the eye for aeronautics
of an ancient Daedalus
deluxe
soaring Sun-ward like his son
determined that the destiny
should be
becoming child
of the cosmos beyond which
no sense to aspire.
OFF AND ON
onoff
offon
everything flickering
in binary systems
philosophical dualism
thrown into
abyss of doubt
let me write to you
confide in you
channeling all that cybernetic
info that
needs to be channeled
after which
what need for repentance
if night of noise abounds
and chaos fractal
as we
write each other
narrate each other
co-author
fist in glove
hand in hand
full spectrum considered
from flatest of descriptions
to surreal interior
account
Oh
head reeling, top spinning,
all is ellipsis
topographies
of envelopment
spiralling in
and out
of control
entropy and prosodies
of free
and bound energies
physical and psychical
temperatures going up
and temperatures coming down
MONKEY BUSINESS
’68, year of the Monkey
what if there were
no Space Odyssey
no Moonwatcher to watch
the students of the Sorbonne
turn France
upside-down
overhead, somehow lost
in the inaccessible recesses
Overlook labyrinth
of HAL’S digital memory,
there is no
continuity error in space
no ninety degree offset
in every planetary alignment
no fabulous match cut,
best there
has ever been
and incredible other
incredible leap by
the Kubrick imagination
Star Child spawned of monolith
floating back
from Jupiter down to
our so shabby planet
to tell us
that the cosmos is our
mirror and our future
written
as if on a screen by
end of
the journey, last self
our evolution
pure promise of our becoming
true
immaculate machine
RATTLER
they kill
the ones that rattle
louder they rattle
more sure
their death
a fact
Oh, the rapturous ones,
you who do
murder all
these creatures
as soon as you say lord
I am your ambush preditor
whipping up
a juicy cocktail
I am determined to instill
and strike I will without warning
for you have sorted me
by selection
no doubt
you see
me as your devil
think
I could well just be
pure devil
this my utter evil nefarious plan
not thing
delivered unto yourself
FRACTAL
I am
a fraction of myself
I write
and my words go haywire
my thoughts
splinter
sorry, did I say, “fractal”?
I meant “fraction”
here signifier signified
losing
do much traction
wandering
off the track
the word game that
is consciousness is
forever process
already out of words, too
many for comfort,
a devil of a deal
to
select
and already by now
the devil much with me
impossibly
deep
within me
telling the compound tale of
moments, incidents
(much
sensory doubt, semantic
slippage)
forever fractious, terminally
forgetful
defining the case of
what all I might speak.
poems 2 die for