SOMETHING
something there
is that wants to
get in through my doors
get in
through my windows
drag me before a mirror
make a blood bath of
my resignation
iron
on iron
sharpening
massacre my comfort zone
lead me out through
the jagged glass
into dark pastures
where the Earth has
opened up
is truly volcanic
and my house, once so
safe and secure, boarded
and guarded
is now a thing that
can scarcely be regarded more
than a gutted shell
THINGS
Things crumbling
imperceptibly changing
and not for the better
all about energy and
closed and
open systems
but bear with me
there is dynamic, much afoot
some strange principle here
amongst all these
swirling particles
and yet
they are not particles
They have only the dream of a particle the whim of a field the thought of a spectacle yes bear with me this is going to be my slowest most considered most laborious poem the one that rambles on and on and on doubling back on itself out Wordsworthing Wordsworth
I guess this is the only type of
poetry genuinely left to write
this is my Solaris Mirror Stalker deep
and dark most Tarkowski of poem
oblique, difficult
conceptually
diffuse obtuse suspicious of words that hide what the carry within them
words that are hollow
resonate with the nothing
they bear within
this is me floating Sub-Zero
this is me looking where no one else has looked not knowing what we’ll be found this isn’t me stripped of human company empathising homing in on the suffering of others the pain of others
speaking dreaming the
dark night darkness we all feel the dream that coldly informs us
there will not be
an awakening
in the centre of the labyrinth
where sonething is there for us to
show (not tell) that
consciousness is meaningless consciousness is nothing consciousness is an accident at
the heart
in the nature of things
the broken
fragmented dark energy
anti-matter
frozen violently expansive imploding heart
of things.
FLAMETHROWER
got job as
gardener
put a flamethrower
and (Zyklon-B
out of stick)
gallons of
agent orange
in my hand
can’t believe what
happened to this garden:
not a single rose
red or white to
fight
hack to death over
what the Hell since
my ancestors invaded
has happened
to this place?
Oh they brought you silk
they brought you cotton
brought you
Asian and African wisdom
brought you Rolling Stones
Kinks Zeppelin
and Beatles
(same river
wound its dark way
past our homes)
and now I must massacre
weeds to save
the bowling green surface
recite Prufrock under
the collapsed
gazebo
once walked the streets
with Swift and Pope from
Ashton to
Rusholme
once
when the youth stuck a
big fuck you
through lips and nose
deconstructive style
meaning anarchy baby
death throes felt
that we all must
surely see
fuck you-s through
GLOW
walked into the Cafe
fish in the tank
had an unearthly glow
no one else seemed
any the wiser
seems it is
the privilege of being born
twelfth sign
to read this text
devise the code
and see with eyes
pure Old Testament
but as we
enter this establishment
scan, reconnoitre,
see this bunch of executive media
types crunched around a table
talking District 9
or possibility of TV follow up
with talent competition and
fun rides
I could pitch them my talent show
all of them
contestants, nobody survives
and the fish trying to sell me something could it
be a (fish)fingerprint of the gods tale of
Antarctica hiding
Atlantis
love these lost cities when feel lost
in the city, lost in my own mind
should write an alternate history in which
my ex-wife led a revolution sending me
and my kind South
to Antarctica
where
there are alien space bases, lunatic
fringe has it
me and
my kind I do not have a “kind”
milk of
human kindness milk of my galaxy
spiral nebula in my coffee could be Andromeda
hurtling towards us
take billions of years to get here,
Greek mythology certified, sweet extinction on its way
I know
you know
I glow
you glow
twin slit experiment you wave me away
ONE ONE
Gary has scored!
Gary has equalized against
this team from the thirties
he spun, hit his shot and
it went in on
the rebound after
taking a deflection
but now they say
he should stick to
punditry, stick
to scoffing crisps
and they want the goal
disallowed, they demand
a recount
insist there must
be a referendum
on the decision from VAR
so Gary’s goal will be disallowed
and what sinks must carry on sinking
there are wave machines
to sort this out
and full fan hatred
shouting singing.
LET LIE
could write
a poem
or untangle
the big lie
you know the one
tied up in a big bow
charcoal-suited
but went for poem
left big lie alone
(let
big lie lie)
take it easy,
simple
be
glad to
be alive
until big lie kill me:
such a stupid
incomprehending smile blasted
clown-style
actoss my face
NOT TALKING
sadly poem
and film of the poem
are no longer
talking
to each other
film
of the poem
is still in embryo
stuck
in the concept stage
the scriptwriter
is trying to hook
a producer’s interest
presenting
a synopsis
everyone is wondering
how much of poem
should be
dropped, how
much embellished
in order to
produce an adaptation
that does not just
do justice but
extends, re-
interprets (without
going full
Charlie Kaufman)
metaphor
synechdoche
we can open with a tracking shot
to outdo Orson Welles or
Robert Altman
lingering seemingly forever
of each of
the seventeen syllables
all
of the three
shimmering lines
TOGETHER
together
we saw Avatar together
learnt how to fly
across our new world
but this Universe
starting to split, fragment
fracture
and we too divided as
everything ends up becoming
no visual paradise
to upload ourselves into
and now
we are on opposite
sides of the galaxy
this our
sole moment of
pure dream
Shuffle through selves
as though through cards
Tarot cards
really ancient, origin
God knows where
that reek of dark
and translucent magic
and here
is the Empress, all
Aphrodite
she I was most faithful to
in the face of
steep disregard
her beauty, as you see here,
leaving me floundering
leaving me speechless
reading in the arcanas
the failures of my journey
as I cling to
this mask trying to
keep it secure as
it slides down
my face
the tragi-comic smirk
moulded there
mocking my feeble
attempts and onrushing failure
as I grope in
this swallowing darkness
for some
kind of illumination
some
kind of source perhaps there a
complete reading, a divination,
the wisdom
that I need
if there is wisdom
you always telling me
we can
find the wisdom
(so Empress-like
in everything
you
do).
poem is
special
forces
is soldier in the war
against being
dumbed down
will
teach you
how to fight
feed you ammunition
one, two, three
programs on TV
crafted supremely and carefully
to dumb
us all down
enough there for more than
the odd pot shot
need some serious serious
poetry
great poetic guns
with heavy
metaphoric artillery
your intellectual life
here
in my hands
poems 2 die for