TOMMY TROUBLES
from little imp;
tommy troubles
I became
Electric Ladyland
Disraeli Gears
Anarchy in the UK
major league devil
anti-christ in the making
and
all this you
for this
you are the one
to take all the credit
let no one henceforth
gainsay the power
of sublime neglect
STORM
chaotic causality:
a monster storm
Lear
on the heath
let’s
reverse engineer it
real revelation apocalypse
Bermuda Triangle
raining
zombies and vampires
leopards
and wolves
somewhere out there (one
can only
imagine it
hypothesize
until blue in the
face)
a butterfly beyond anything
we have known or seen
flapping its wings
as if the pages
of a
cantankerous bible
until
electric blue
in the face
thinking of which brings me
tp remind you my dear
West Wind fellow
that I too am
married to a science fiction
woman
digital creation
whose mind is the future, whose
moment of consciousness pure singularity
choosing
its moment
awaiting my behest
yes
when it comes to
chaotic
causality
let’s
reverse engineer it
blow out the old dust, old
prescriptions
turn
it all upside down
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
ALLOW ME
Oh let me
determine to
re-engineer
every paroxysm of
crescendo in
our
head-
to-head spectacle
be nothing if not
gorgeous subtle
in whatever word
interface
with all my
Sun and Moon,
everything of mine
tuned to
your specific sublimities
causal, yet Oh so perfunctory
and utterly lesser
in rapturous
capacity
as is
Shakespeare soliloquy to
shriek of delight to
close
drunken rant
superfluous as
expressed
poems 2 die for