power – Page 3 – poems 2 die for

FARM WITH A BARN

the farm
with a barn

and a silo
underground

wants
a world
without
consequences

world
for and
by
the exceptional

for your
disinformation

as their
forever playground

IN THEORY

words
words
words

put horizontally
put vertically

are what he tells the President
he is reading

and what is the difference
between a prince and
a pauper and
a prince and a
president
at the end of the day?

you
ask.me

Oh let me travel to
the end of my leash, reach
the end
of my tether

sojourn in Paris, lounge
on the left bank
become
eternal student

many a brilliant idea imported
along with appertifs
and expressos

as I chart my way
developing the system
to conquer
limitation, figure out
what is
different

a system so open and

yet subtle

it can pre-
determine every nuance

eveb as it crosses the page idly
as any other text

word word word
text

(nothing we believe ever
outside a text)

CHANNELING

a pretty derelict
unused space now
(like an
interstellar void)

but once
tge SkyVue drive in
used to cover
acres of territory

and the bush under the screen
where as kids
we played
cowboys
and savages

remember that screen
well it used
to fill half the night sky

saw Spartacus there, and
Cast a Giant Shadow

which wars, it seems,
never really died

Rome always lingering
Empires of Man versus
Empires of Heaven

but now
the whole planet
is our
screen

we have screens in our pockets
screens in our heads
inescapable
channeling

and there enough projection
to fill every known desert
desert of the real
Neo

truth having
dissolved, truth crucified
by fiction

truth’s fate to be enslaved
by the narrative of the day

and like
the poem says we
have all
become cyphers, organic
little molecules
in the dance of supreme fiction

the new reality to be
broadcast twenty-
four seven

dreamworld Neo, germane to
the Zhuangzi parable

cowboys, savages, think
like
a butterfly

the wild gift of technology
the premise to allow

without any
lingering sense of irony

to speak of self as supreme,
and, yes indeed, the world

.

BATTLEFISH

BATTLEFISH

you thought
sea is for fish
but I know
it’s for battleships

if you cannot
see this

you know
nothing of religious narrative

nothing of the supreme
design and plan

AT ROME

AT ROME

they look back
longingly at Rome
whose triremes ruled
the Mediterranean

whose legions kept
control over
much of the
known world

whose slaves rebelled
and were crucified
along the entire
length
of the Appian Way

by the monstrously
rich General, Marcus Crassus

who would come to
be captured by the Parthians
and fed molten gold

FALL

FALL when the mighty fall into abject stupidity what hope is there for everyday people? whose only sin is to vote idiocy into power again and again to the delight of us all

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE

LAST LAUGH I BELIEVE libraries of law rendered irrelevant thanks to an insult of a defence premised on the untenable presented as if it were an ad campaign and all we have now is shark in the tank and biggest gets to eat everything great white nosing its way in speed huge as a submarine think it’s just going to laugh if I proclaim myself to have court protection, have injunction, cease fire, have restraining order catch all those rows of serrated teeth last laugh is his I believe

EVERYTHING

here is
a theory

no one
can understand

here
is a poem

no one
can understand

and you
look flustered

wanting to
understand
everything

so many
would like
to understand
everything

help them
to destroy everything

FROM THE PLACE

FROM THE PLACE

I write
from the place where
dreams come

to be
extinguished

when space, no longer
finds itself available to
generate
a rich tapestry

and all our ideas
what we were, what
we are
comes to be recycled

and the energies that
command, take charge
are
no longer our own.

THAT WE DO NOT HEAR

we do not hear
the laughter off the gods any more

at our lovable quirks or
(too often) outright
stupidity

or as they jostle for supremacy
in their own hierarchies

at their own foibles and excesses
as we know
from Ovid and
Homer

these almost exclusively
of an amorous nature
as when
Aphrodite and Ares became
trapped and entangled
in a net woven by
Hephaestus, sinned against,
aggrieved cuckolded party,

so engrossed in each other
(and who dare blame them?)
that when the rest of
Olympus rushed
to take in this spectacle
they flatly continued,
as the gods
roared with
rough mirth and yet
were riveted with wonder
at such
a free, fabulous show

where the parties could not have
more consummately represented
their
respective sexualities and
gender polarities

if on this question of
beauty as we riff you

grab my gist and run with it wickedly

in your own imagination

of humans
laughing at gods there is
of this species
no practice, no
hope of
continuation
the mocking spirit of great Aristophanes
squashed at its first sign
dead
in its tracks

killed by those who
believe the gods, all gods
are beyond
any comedy, reflecting
their faith (ludicrous
beyond measure) that

they are
as gods themselves, our history

blighted by the rise of such
self-proclaimed deities, wondrously
inept
holy imperators
whose narcissism no
catalogue
of statues commissioned so that
the love of
the people can be felt
beyond death
continue as legacy through
all of posterity

Oh think, my friends, what the genius
of an Aristophanes, embodiment
of true
human comedy

could play before the stars, which
share our liberation, our
moment of ecstasy

and like all our
false structures are left
helpless to the humour

who knows! teetering
on the edge
veering this
way and that on the brink of collapse