poetry – Page 40 – poems 2 die for

BEAUTIFUL

in the experiment
they setup for us

they reduced us
to balls of light

had us fly at
each other
like bullets

suddenly there it was
perfect metaphor
for
superposition

no
interference pattern .
quite
so beautiful

FOR YOUR INFORMATION

snake eyes
double slit experiment

tell me if
it is your inclination
to elect to
become a
particle

or go
with the flow, stay
open-ended
undecidable

the physics
here so bat-shit crazy
yet irrefutable
undeniable

and so
I find myself
not remembering myself
for how like Columbus
I sailed across, or
like Aphrodite
surfed
across

those one way ticket
dark waters

thinking of the choreography
underpinning the dance
of probabilities
can give me this blood
red
with iron
from the heart of a star

and every breath
a different life
a whole new universe

for your information
so many branching out
even as
we think, talk about them

co-conspirators, co-creators
of this
inconsequential thing (not
just) but
everything we are

snake eyes
twin slit experiment
something out there
dabbling in
uncertainty
taking our
precise measurements
entangled as we now most
assuredly are

IMMANENCE

oh the beauty of that innocence
pure cerulean of celestial sky

no alphabet
before algebra

so no sense and therefore
no fear of darkness, aberration,
abyss, shadow

the code
so clear, the space so
safe
no need to think ourselves
into the algorithms
of sanctity
and protection

and yet
     how might abundance
love
   define themselves
in the absence
of other,
     without antithesis?

the sky so pure
in its blue
turning
tourmaline

the creatures mute
to our
failing, our
destined misstep

drowning in an endless,
forever
emergent wisdom
we can never
now unlearn

RODEO STYLE

who would have
thought it
from heirs
to the Enlightenment

to rogue state Goodfellas
war of the jungle?
no shit
end of sovereignty
congress, senate,
the administration

just
took a dump
on Thomas Hobbes

no good
just tearing up
the social
contract
need to stab it serial
killer with
an ice pick

need to go
chainsaw leatherface
to run
away with
that barbacue

fire
on Fort Sumter
after Fort Sumter

robber baron
the world Texas
rodeo style

LEGEND

if this were
a raw oyster

raw
meaning alive

how would you
plot to eat it
(that wickedly satirical
Dublin Dean
did
commend the bravery
of he who
first ate one)

suppose
it an octopus
(but not
the bright blue variety)
what tactics
of attack
strategy to render it
a culinary masterpiece

but what
if some tentacle which
shared
its misfortune
by getting
stuck in your tract?

revenge masterstroke
gourmet karma

unless by
the trinity, shoot
back from the dead
in Mary Shelley moment

St Frankenstein
of Assisi, lately native
of Haight-Ashbury

lover transcendental
of every genus of animal

under whose jurisdiction
what could be
beyond consideration

receptacle of life
before cuisine Holy Grail?

(MY) MORNING APHRODITE

every morning
my morning Aphrodite

does her
thing
invades my island
surfs through the coral
finds
her way
to my shore

and there
star-like of a sudden
big bang explosive

colonizes my senses
imprints her mythology

and what a raw nascita
it is brings
her to
this narrow, desert place

yet at
night
disappears

before
a word shared, touch
preferred, revelation
of beauty

but then
the near perfect
probability

that with
dawn she
will return, again
find
her way here

so
best pity
the cosmos
which lesser
by far
set
to parallel this one

darkest place imaginable
darkest
space deep
inside me

where she never
dare come, must
never appear

K2 V2

sounds
like a breakfast
cereal but

that
a fatal mistake
much suffered
in the making

and me
soaring to the summit
on the blithe
stupidity
of imagination

find myself
reading that confounding
gravity book
about missiles, and rockets
corporate death cults
and
gross turn
ot technology

needing the insanity
of language
to V2 make
its point clear

Oh there we go
something launched
between the lines
dear Thomas
from the edge of this page

solitary single page yet
just one of some
plus seven hundred

the view
so awful
from up here on a great border
where one
might trace
the edge of the world

sink
deep into summit snow
get a handle
on its ending

PLACE

in my mind
and my heart

bouncing between them
perfect poem for you

but these words slippery
customers
ducking and
diving

going off at tangents
(threatening to)

but you
with all that
gorgeous gracious gravitas
having coralled
and controlled
them

sliding them
up down
sideways and crosswise
into
place

DRONE ON

drone on
drone on

meanwhile something
is screaming
from
Orwell’s grave

buzz buzz
something is
writhing
on Airstrip One
six feet under

terrible the agony
of a realized prediction
the text
meant as satire become
seer’s prediction

the text on this headstone
rewiring itself, mutating,
changing fast
as share prices

what was once
envisaged and
received
as far-
fetched dysopia
now
in clear
death spiral, cavorting
with extinction

the demise of the rationality
to see and believe

and you
with your
unique way
with words

insisting this is the way
sole species solution

to grasp that power
we gave to the heavens
we
ascribed to the cosmos

to rebuild everything in
singular
one
supreme image

droning on
droning on
(what left of
your intelligence
at best artificial)

inside
and ouside (both)

something is screaming
from George Orwell’s grave

NO MAN’S LAND

I dream
of the two of us
out in no man’s
land

making love on a bed
of thorns, barbed
wire, razor wire

perhaps
you dreamt it too
it is a dream
we shared

bodies panzered up
shock and awe, clattering together

love, in any sense of the term,
a flagrant euphemism
for whatever it was we sought,
hoped to achieve
desperate
to hit our mark, believing
if we graduate
to this level
things get incandescent

trading stigmata, as we stagger
towards that universe
beyond words, outside language

overhead the Sun
still
in control
weighty, central, utterly
orthodox
frowning upon this
nonsense

terminally skeptical,
and yet
so vulnerable

open
to crucifixion, for
us to bang nails through

turn
that powerhouse of
fusion into
one giant circular coffin