NO FLIES
no flies on me
but the flies that
are on me
are jewelled, enamelled,
iridescent
and the buzz
they get to create
louder than
a perfect media storm
where two
idiotic major stories
crash into each somewhere
stupid out
in the mid-Atlantic
shedding each other pieces
as all
establishment voices
in pursuit
of the savage lie
are so hard-pressed
to miraculously achieve
NOW YOU DON’T
I was thinking of
the lucidity of a winter haiku
waiting
for the season to change
but the Earth
changed the seasons
the weather cataclysmic
and haiku
and let it be said
the writers of haiku
all disappeared
RIDE
found myself in a Wes Anderson world
my house full of things in
bright pastel colours
I bought on line
felt I needed
a radical change of
landscape and how
that landscape insists
that I best deport myself
so
said a charm
of transformation
asking for a science
fiction horror scenario
scripted by HP Lovecraft,
artwork
by HR Giger
and waited to die of
sheer fear
or survive to enjoy
the ride
INSCRIPTION
I have copies
occur
in many different forms
have more than three
dimensions
I write write write write
if only to prove
that I myself
am an inscription
catch my drift
get my gist
go with my flow
even as
a greater flow, deeper drift
quintessential gist
is what
life
has me follow
dictates here
this is what I grasp
all that I have grasped
from that recitation
practically everything I need
to write, and learn, and be.
poems 2 die for