BLOOD
I whitewashed
my poem
silly me
I got all my facts wrong
good job
the mainstream
media was
on hand
to correct me
poet nobody
cleans up his act
at least now
I might make
some kind of
headline
worth the whitewash
restoring the page
to its pristine blankness
worth
all the effort picking
up the body parts
mopping
up the blood
DRY
there is no everyday
there is no ssme street
everything has
been disconnected
there is no
same old
go home
pretend that home
is still as you
have always known it
nothing
has fallen into ruin
nothing has been resprayed
watch all the cheap
global disaster extinction
level event
end of the planet movies
you can get your hands on
an election is coming
you will need
to drink the drinks’ cabinet dry
BATTLEFIELD
butterfly
fluttered over
the battlefield
trench war
combined arms
cyber war
tanks
versus chlldren
butterfly was looking
for someome, anyone
to give some
kind of explanation
but we
are humanity
we kill in the name of
all we hold dear
incapable of
the art of transormation
AND BUTTER
you butter
your bread
with genocide
got genocide
sizzling
on the stove
take it with
milk and three sugars
the taste
to sweeten
swing your fat arse
into the studio
there to pontificate
argue
the toss
(toss
the argue)
that genocide, by
very definition,
ia a crime
against humanity
that can never
be said to exist
SLAM DUNK
mindset to mindset
not yielding an inch
not conceding
a point
leaves me confused
as to whether this is
chess or all-in
-wrestling
we find ourselves
confronted with
with chess no rips and
tears and broken bones
deadly
serious this game
hardly spectacle: so
poorly choreographed
posture and
bluster
in the same league hardly
BROOM CUPBOARD
broom cupboard
you have the rigour
and acumen
of a broom cupboard
and not one
that anyone in
their right mind
would consider
spacious
no, this cupboard
is so tiny
best it could do
would be to hold
a brush or two,
though admittedly
more could be hosted
if the broom and brushes
were in fact broken,
which, in your case,
they naturally are
and so we must come
to your intervention
a strange mixture I felt
between the necessarily glib
and striving
to be profound
if it were served as sustenance
it seemed neither solid
nor in any way, by
size or shape, nothing
that had not been pre-,
paid or especially selected
to give the support
the ranks of the mindless
seem to save
for their own
no fat suet dumpling floating
in hot greasy water
is the best
cuisine analogy I can
dredge up for you
watching that fat imperial face
dole out imperial ideology
as if history
had stripped your
divided nation
down to a plane, perhaps
a tank
and a boat or two
not the right backup stuff
for tough talk premised
on old battleship diplomacy
pop
goes the pop gun
in any
real confrontation with
the rising world
they sweep clean
your talk is doomed
BARBARUS
I watched the debate
(if you could call it that)
moderated
(if you call it that)
by program host
Piers Morgan
watched in awe
the cool demeanour
of Professor Finkelstein
wish I were
that impervious to
ad hominem attacks
could behave like Norman
not Conan the Barbarian.
IN BED
in bed
thinking of fairy tales
bed being
best place for
any kind of fairy
tale
inclusive of
child, adult and
seriously classified ones
the ones that
reveal
the wicked witch is
not dead (reports of
her demise
strategically exaggerated) and Empire is
forever always naked
just trick of
the light
and indoctrination that
goes by the name
of education
that we see
what we believe:
Empire and Emperor
(its pure
embodiment) is always
richly attired
and powerfully adorned
no fear that this change
because fairy tale is the
dream of
all that abides
supremely happy ever after
above history
beyond change
SOUL
I’ve had it
with these poets
gonna go
full Hannibal
gonna
go Buffalo Bill
gonna dig a deep
fat hole
in somebody’s
basement
give them
the hose
until
they stop
writing little
little little
all whisper and muffle
and sort of
sense tickle
until they surrender
to brutality
and show me
their soul
BUFFALO BILL HITS THE CIRCUS
was at the circus
but the tent fell
down
swamping poets,
academics
and other clowns
maybe the pole was broken
no way steadfast Shakespearean
perhaps
Nietzsche’s concept
of evil which
I did lately relate
offended every deity,
was tempting fate
a direct dereliction
of poetic duty
speaking of which
when those poets
copped it
not much, to use my TS
word should be
bewailed as
having been given
much
lilting solipsism there
sweetest narcissism
stuck in
their own heads:
what it
means to be
this sort of man
what it means to
be a woman
what poetry must
become in a Zuckerberged world
and
what magic deserted when
we got skinned
those bodies even more
dumb and devoid of stuff
no
magical coat for me thenn
poems 2 die for