NOT TO CONCERN

NOT TO CONCERN

mystery planes, crazy
ambiguous figures
suspect characters

appearing and disappearing
popping in
and out of existence

later we shall be told
move on
move
on

nothing to see here
nothing of interest

do not concern yourself
what you are looking for
is at best
speculation, figment
of your imagination

how can there be
a story to uncover
an
astounding narrative

no words were ever
spoken about such things

in every dimension of
space and time

these are phenomena
that never existed

SLURP

SLURP

I drink your
strawberry
chocolate
salted caramel
hazelnut
even
      vanilla milkshake

slurp your sarcasm
as if
    it were melting ice-cream

munch your foaming banana
fudge

as if
it were
direct from drug store spigot

sweet Vesuvius, blessed
Krakatoa

fallen
    like hot manna
into my lap

        swirling like
          a spiral nebula in the
machine of your receptacle

thoughts
            of cosmic body horror
subsumed by the

rush of your
            sudden pink
flamingo
        sugar

treacle and absinthe.

EZRA AT THE METRO

EZRA AT THE METRO

Once delivered a
paper on
Pound

when I told
them it was
          all of
thirty (30)
    handwritten pages

(hardly imagist
certainly no way haiku)

the apparition
of those listening,
                  sickening faces

    bloke called Coetzee pounding 
his head on the table
                      in exasperation

this Modernism moment

        suddenly all avocado
on
a leaf-
green surround.

SEED TO STORM

SEED TO STORM

seed to
perfect storm

let us
consider
that dynamic

explosive this energy
in the million
volt zig-
    zag of its release

Nazaré
        Teahupoo

surf that water mountain
until it crashes into
a swirl
       of demented foam

when the world breaks for us
against us

              when storm
supercharges our
lives

         go with that flow
at ultra velocities

       plug yourself in
what
      else can you
                   are you

        supposed to do?

seed to
           perfect storm

storm to perfect seed

CROSSING THE LINE

CROSSING THE LINE Oceanic white tips gather it is all so pagan this ritual of Poseidon as we cross the line and are in the Southern hemisphere tipping the world upside down so that beautiful Cape Town where oceans and currents meet the new apex city seems only fair if the North wants to humiliate itself standing on its head turning somersaults a reversal of perspective seems a necessary corrective in Universe of absolute relativity it is long overdue

AND THE YELLOW FLOWERS

AND THE YELLOW FLOWERS

and the fierce yellow flowers
outside my bedroom

peered through the window
like
  security policemen

told me
harshly

      we are

all
  sunshine

in no
  uncertain terms

we are
all sunlight itching
to break out
as nuclear
fission

forever primed
but
  unable to explode

and the yellow flowers
hitting
    critical mass
    outside my bedroom

      now my former bedroom

trash talking as
              per usual but
I’m no longer
there to hear

EXERCISE

EXERCISE

you cannot go
into a classroon
proclaim to
the kids

today, children, I have
something lovely
for you to do:

today
      in class
we are going to get
creative

have
real fun, drawimg
painting what
      the soldier saw

or sculpt a little diorama
or create a tiny script

and then
     enact it

as a play, or maybe film
the play or maybe

a black and white or
technicolout film

we have
           so much red paint
it’s going to be spectacular

buckets of red paint
for you head
                to toe
to slosh around

an exercise for all of us
to forever remember

death is the scene
            death must

never forget