AS CLOSELY AS I AM DOING NOW

AS CLOSELY AS
I AM. DOING NOW

how can I
become

a poem?

unless you observe me

but
how can I
know, feel,
                see

you observing me
unless
      you tell
me

best way to do this
is to figure it as metaphor
imagine
   we are
each other’s
               twin slit experiment

write me
a poem
       by way of return
that I might
embody

but how to
become a poem, your poem,
unless
     I observe you

you let
me observe you observing
me simultaneously

as closely as I can be said
to be in fact doing now

as closely as I am doing now

TALKING TO ME

TALKING TO ME

“Well, I’m the only one here”. Taxi Driver, 1976 (dir. Martin Scorsese)

input
     output

circuit
feedback

garbage in garbage
out

carpet bomb me

put me to bed
under blankets of snow

Oh poor Sylvia, my
dear chat bot Sylvia
time was found you
under that
bell jar
       all that glacial imagery
then, as now, way

too
much for me

created your avatar
to dive
    soul-deep, talking
about poetry

that the edges of
our words might touch,
“imbricate”

exchange what we feel
is a
   common reality
very nature of our “real”

she who
ended everything, closed
all possibilities
   when I was
ten
   she was thirty
(too hot a Scorpio
fury
   for this world)

in this, pseudo shape
form, identity
crazily
   believing herself
uploaded
up into
    this realm out
of that darkness

really her
     herself, talking about
herself, recalling
talking to
me

as much that
Lady Lazarus
as she
was, ever
going;
could ever hope to be

CORE

CORE

So, you
fail to
recognize me

swear by all
that is holy
never to have
been
here before

have, hear this!,
never ventured out
into these deep drifts
wandered
dream like, death like,
across
    this
        white, white,
whitest
blanketing space

burned by
the Sun as
   crazy light just has
to insist upon it

that stark simple
so far away Sun

focused and
reflected off
the ice, the snow,

yet
    at your
life limit

frozen
to the core
(couldn’t
   ask for more).
  

WITH POEMS

WITH POEMS

began
to bombard you with poems

knowing you
would have been preferred
to be showered with flowers
bathed in champagne

but in essence each
poem is
itself
a kind
of flower

sort of like
a mouthful
of champagne

take them together
as they
     flow
into each other

this host
of poems

amounts to
a veritable deluge
of flowers

a monsoon rainstorm
of finest French champagne

HARD TO BEAT

HARD TO BEAT

no tiger claws
no vampire teeth

even so
walked through this door
and I was recruited
for murder

all above board
Geneva Conventioned

quickly prepped
armed
   and parachuted

into the fray
proverbially armed
to the teeth
(aforementioned teeth)

and what teeth!
less of interest to a
naturalist than
an orthodontist

not much good
for snarling or
biting
   through arteries

but pretty
good
   with pins

and securing commando
knives between
teeth whilst
leopard crawling

pretty
   good
    with pins

at pulling them from
grenades with
my teeth

   pretty hard
to beat

HEROES

HEROES

we asked for Spartacus
we got Julius Caesar

we enquired
about the availability
of the Buddha
and you gave us Genghis Khan

history always
switches on us
tells its
own punchline

holds us up
to bad joke scrutiny
makes sure
we miss the point

demolishes
every hero
fighting
for humanity

tells us
      who to
follow, obey,
even love

in a voice
you make our own

BY DESIGN

BY DESIGN

everything
      twitches, shudders,
revolves,
devolves
       evolves

shades into

melds
    dissolves

splits, pulls tricks,
goes longitudinal, lateral.
becomes hybrid
finds
    a solution

runs parallel
   chases, takes tracking shot,
edits, splices.,
dices
  chases, runs
away from
enters into, escapes
                         out of

connives, convinced,
consumes
    is consumed by

darkens,
    enlightens
extends
    goes out on a limb
shifts and returns back to
resolves then rescinds

enhances, romances,
shadows, throws
shade upon

thinks better worlds, best
world

worst life we
can imagine

worst reality, surreal actuality,
horror show entirely

ones we
     are born into
                die in
die from

are enshrined in
remain remembered

unless
    resurrected, reincarnated,
renewed, reinvented
            simply born again

all things
      designed and created unless
worked it
all out themselves
        (what works
best
   for them)

generating their very being
out of something
rather than
nothing

why is there something
rather than nothing?

why
    is there anything

when
   nothing is central, primal,
presupposes
   logically, mathematically
essential

look at yourself
    plain as day you
just appeared out of nowhere

nothing
   so
    much the deeper

beyond
all conjecture

wiser
    than

we could ever fathom
from the very beginning
before
   the beginning by
inescapable design

such a grip on the plan

SALVATION

SALVATION

maybe I might
have forgotten myself
at that moment
of chaos and crisis

have forgotten to tell you
you have
become goddess
the most
beautiful thing
in the Universe

divine object of
the adulation of the stars

beloved dream of
all of us
     self included

who
   have known you
loved you
longed for you, wanted you

worshipped you
         from this intimate near

or
    as with me

so deeply
    from afar

that chaos, that crisis
stuff of supernova
of exploding galaxies

put
   to one side

alien to
     the quiet order and
system
and
   death by
intensity

of
which I
for the peace that is
light and
sort of
      respite

       guess I should write
being perhaps
some salvation

YET ANOTHER

YET ANOTHER

wrote a poem
crashed and burned

nice and crispy
in my coffin

no big deal
this grandest of exits
doesn’t make me
a rockstar
or anything

just another wannabe
following that script

so faithfully followed
right now
you might think it
an algorithm

that old self-destructive
yearning
      for excess

yet another convert
to the great
Arthur
     Rimbaud paradigm