BALLROOM (revised version)

BALLROOM

we Brits (was once Brit)
two centuries ago
torched
your White House

but now
the special relationship
all is forgiven
all is
forgotten

and now, anyway, you
hard at work
knocking it down
(Donald confesses to
loving that sound)

but soon
to be revised, restored,
resurrected
into a glorious ballroom,
divinely beautiful
fit not
   just for a King
but for a god

place
for the elite
to meet
meat of the elite

one thing
   about the true elite
will swear
to the media, to all
who might listen.
they are,
so bog
ordinary
      which terrible taste
kind of confirms
that they are
and here
     beneath this gloss
something exquisitely shabby

yet be
that as it may
everyone
will
    fall over themselves
to be
first
to proclaim it a people’s palace,

open
to all
   and sundry just
so long
   as they be corporate, so
long as they bank billions

fantastic fever dream structure
that simply
      pulls out all the stops

promises to give you
space to
    express yourself to
trip the light
fantastic
     waltz, tango, whiskey, Charlie,
delta

Lightnings, Eagles, Tomcats,
Apaches

whatever your wings
enough floor here to park on

rivalling
    the USS Enterprise for
deck
   to take off and land

returning from bombing runs
on incalcitrant blue cities
the governance
        of America
not
   leaving to chance

that no one
     will
dance
out of step
           play
different tune,

mess
   with the waltz

rewrite
    the text of this sacred script

that gave
     us the blueprint for
this insatiable dream

and in the realization
of which

because money isn’t real
you need so much of it

MY LECTURE ON SATIRE

MY LECTURE ON SATIRE

I was lecturing on satire
fancying myself
up on the stage
behind the podium

but
then

inexplicably
began to satirize myself

tear strips off
launch a monstrous attack
bombard with
vicious jokes about
my total lack of ability
limited intelligence

which I
would share with you

were it not
so viciously brilliant
beyond your comprehension
way outside
your linguistic abilities

far above
your mere mortal
everyday pay grade

SPECIES

SPECIES

maybe

     as they

deepen

these divides
and dichotomies
are

not going to plunge the world
into civil war
upon civil war

no
   we could
find ourselves
            saved from self-
annihilation by the advent
of the
    simple, planet-saving,
evolutionary solution

allowing us
     to species-split along
all seams,
    do the most natural thing

become
as many kinds of hominid
as there are stars
in the firmament

since it seems impossible
that such an
    outcome

will scarcely allow
us to
    treat each other worse
than we
do now

or as
   unequally, unjustly, and, yes,
genocidally
    

BALLROOM

BALLROOM

we Brits (was once Brit)
two centuries ago
torched
your White House

but now
the special relationship
all is forgiven
all is
forgotten

and now, anyway, you
hard at work
knocking it down
(Donald confesses to
loving that sound)

but soon
to be revised, restored,
resurrected
into a glorious ballroom,
divinely beautiful
fit not
just for a King
but for a god

a people’s palace, open
to all
and sundry just
so long
as they be corporate, so
long as they bank billions

fantastic fever dream structure
that simply
pulls out all the stops

promises to give you
space to
express yourself to
trip the light
fantastic
waltz, tango, whiskey, Charlie,
delta

enough floor to
park your wings on
(returning from
street
ICE sortie)
enough
to put the
Enterprise
to shame

help
fix the
Governance of America

that no one
will
dance
out of step
play
different tune,

mess
with the waltz

rewrite
the text of this sacred script

that gave
us the blueprint for
this insatiable dream

MR ORANGE MAN

MR ORANGE MAN

you told the soldiers
to stand up straight
lose weight

know
who’s the boss

stream
in single file
loaded
and locked

off
to the gym

need
to look beautiful
get into
shape, stay
trim

for all those enemies
without, and within,
especially within

told them
to fight the good
fight
love

the sight
of blood
(neither forgiveness
nor redemption
international law, code
of honour, Geneva
Convention)

all rules
of engagement, out
the window, thrown
into question

to clap
for their Emperor, save
his approval ratings

to which god-given
command they
did not
respond

such poker-faced
warriors

they will not
last long

(too much
internal enemy
still
    nestling
within them)

STING

STING

The Master told her
a page
is like a lover
waiting to
be touched

demanding
to be explored

at which
point she frowned
not
  fot the first time

reminding him, with
due respect
       as his student
with
    so much
   to learn

that the words on
some pages
are satirical, no
nonsense

cut
  to the bone

carry a sting
sharply pointed, venomous,
touch
   them at
your peril

not big
on that
love-touch thing

WHOLE PACKAGE

WHOLE PACKAGE

this is my
          box

my beautiful package
devised, constructed, fabricated
to enhance,
         verify, verify, rectify
this most wonderful
of weapons

so many thousands pointed
at each other (every
megaton worth
millions)

so now we have
more than enough to go round
protection, satisfaction
for all
     no one to go needy
we guarantee you your share

so just put them in this box
here according to the wording
looks so nondescript
but it’s
marvellous, glorious I swear

look how eager it is
to embrace,
     sword-swallow each
pointed warhead

turn them into
art, sheer poetry, true
beauty
    as they disappear

somewhere, anywhere, nowhere
who gives a flying f where
they went to
      disappeared to

leaving us
cold and alone no hope
of
   final winter
ultimate prophecy

not the case with
all those
      other worlds in
their parallel universes

ours
    somehow surviving
beating impossible odds
of so
    doing, of our
contriving to do so

a blip
on a switch, screen
misread, word
mistranslated

they got the required treatment
the whole package as detailed

.
    

MARIONETTE

MARIONETTE

I was
interviewed by a,
marionette

someone ardently, adroitly,
pulling, plucking the strings
behind the scenes

was from network or
other, I forget which one,
CNN, FOX, BBC
much
of a muchness
if you ask me

someone
working those strings making
them sing
though I would
struggle against
the grain to
call it lyrical

too much
noise, dissonance,
same old same

English words
on life support begging
for death, screaming to be free

I was
interviewed by a marionette
sent
to get my fist
publicly expose me

narrative
confirmed, truth out
the door

left me
to my thoughts, not
good ones either

better by far
had they sent a robot
AI intelligence never
so
well programmed

if had
left
me be
better infinitely more
than entirely