COME
come
let me
show you darkness
what we have here
what you have
here
is
blindness
not
the same
thing at all
COME
come
let me
show you darkness
what we have here
what you have
here
is
blindness
not
the same
thing at all
HOW
how can I possibly
still love you
still
want you
still imagine you
with me
right now
now
now
now!
so close, both of
us, the two of us,
would agree we feel embedded
wrapped up in each
other’s arms:
the ultimate package
but
this
is
not real, is pure
supposition, ghost conjecture
me here
alone in these words, with
this poem
you,
as ever,
so far away
HERE
if you were here
I would
devote myself to
your pleasure,
shamelessly, spectacularly
so
bring you into my sphere
softly, slowly
inch by inch
measure
by measure
until you cannot, would
not ever desire
to leave
come down to Earth from
where we
soared together
ON MARS
do not breathe the air
the atmosphere
will scramble your brains
more than
they have already
been
scrambled
this is the red planet
getting redder by the day
planet of war and
hard masculinity
in human mythology
sister planet; brother world
look into this glass
and see our world, the one
you left behind
collapse into chaos
the Martians, though, are
ready for you
have read that story
by Ray Bradbury
are about to lull you into
the belief that
there can be a place
in this Universe to
find or build
equivalent to Heaven
will strike and destroy
when you are living that
dream
threatening to
destroy their civilization, colonize
them out of existence
sometimes ones salvation
lies in the strategy
most insidious of all

SWAN SONG
was singing the multiverse
thinking of travelling under
an alien ocean
in Nemo’s submarine
light years from our home planet
travelling metres deep
twenty thousand leagues
under that sea
the pressure getting to me
rivets popping
no one
able to make sense of my
song
as it rises from alien
depths to cultivated surface
finding the ears
of beings like me except
they have
neither space, nor time
for outlandish things
THINK THAT i CAN THINK
i am body
without consciousness
I am consciousness
body free
wondering how,
if I am just a deteriorating
copy of a photocopy
I can
make love to you
think that i can think
almost philosophically
WHITE
Yellow custard
red jelly
black cat
white phosphorous
what is the colour
of horrible death?
ON MY PART
was going to send you
an audio
making love to you
with voice
reaching those spots
other voices fail to reach
but
I held back, pressed
record
but no speech
on my part
nothing came out
think it must
be the terrible fear
that something
spoken
sensuously
will
bounce back
and before I know it
there I am once more
falling for
you again
desperate that all the pleasure
I talk, is pleasure
that in my
heart I still
hope of talking you into
lying back on my bed night
after night alone
longing, dreaming
one day
we will touch
climate change
has not touched me yet
maybe
warming is not real, neither
have I been seared
nor likewise broiled
the talk of the Poles South
and North shedding
their huge
ice
falling apart
does not seem
real to me now
as I lie here
contemating the eternal
verity that we as species
will continue
forever as we are
the dread of our demise
just brush by
zither was what I used to strum
and trombone too
could crank a
tune out of
but all got exchanged
traded for bone bagpipe
at the local
flea market
and yes, feel I got cheated
I definitely do
bought and sold way
below
true value like
a cracked Grecian urn
down to thing of singld string
which I can pluck for all I’m worth
but no way its going
to replace Paganini
or be up there
with Hendrix
poets and guitar heroes
naturally enough seem
to
incline towards
early graves