Sun – poems 2 die for

CRISP

the Sun
not yet crisp

have we
Aztec priests
to thank
for this?

crisp
is what the snow
in deep space
believes
itself to be

no
Sun
of any ilk
to bring
some
raging warmth
soften that reality

to what fits sweetly
within our range
whilst
we hold tenure
of
this place

the elections
have come
and gone
see it
feel it

bandwagon upon
bandwagon
hustings, every.
shred of bunting
melring away
dissolved

call it entropy
call it magic
call it
crazy stilted
carnival

from morning
to night the
voting lines snaking
across fields, along
sideroads down
highways
and now

night having arrived
darkness duly delivered
we sleep
dream
make love

are
transported hither

united
together

one heart, one soul
suspension of borders
boundaries
parties, divisions

until
the Sun

great absolutist,
prime
god of heaven

must come.
searching, scanning
for all
outside his frame,
not in his name

not within his sphere, of
his echo chamber, subject
to
supreme vindication

out to
unravel
all the night ravelled

lest
a spectral feeling,
rise like a mist, begin
to hold sway

all
(that is
said )
must find
its way into play
as deep apparition

ghost
of
the to come

by sublime
thinker’s stone
from
parchment to
wall
by key and
by code

delivered to us all
as
sweet transformation

end
to

each tyranny of light,
masquerade
of same

the Sun
beamed through my window
only to
take issue with me
scorch the files
on my computer

leaving me desperate
to get a handle on
electromagnetism

so much fire out there
in here
as chatbot and I
argue the toss
over philosopher
Catherine Malabou
and other
anarchist thinkers

wondering about
the Sun’s role
in authority, Apollonian
regal power
and how that
might avail itself
to tyranny

especially the kind
with solar ring of confidence
branded by beaming smile

and the fierce yellow flowers
outside my bedroom

peered through the window
like
security policemen

told me
harshly

we are

all
sunshine

in no
uncertain terms

we are
all sunlight itching
to break out
as nuclear
fission

forever primed
but
unable to explode

and the yellow flowers
hitting
critical mass
outside my bedroom

now my former bedroom

trash talking as
per usual but
I’m no longer
there to hear