january 2016                               

 

                                           (i)

 

...always it seems there is some intense danger

             to befriend,

a continent being pushed into my face

 

and every time I stand

fidgeting at the same precipice

 

gazing at the atoms streaming from my mind

an aurora beyond love, beyond redemption

 

curses echoing from rainbows,

blocks of granite glowing with anger

 

and every footstep of the mob

one more line in the script

 

a whole diaspora of gods

suddenly falling from my lips

 

before me the intense abyss

waits to destroy

 

behind are throats saturated in grease

and as they approach singing of pop-corn,

 

butchered lambs and devotion,

the choice is clear...

 

 

                                              

                                        (ii)

 

...if  I  am  very  still

a  strange, illegal  poetry  begins  to  drip  from  my

                    finger-ends,

 

and  small,  so-nervous  birds

come  and  sip  from  the  sticky  substance,

 

but  behind  each  letter  there  hides

the  same  explosive  willpower

 

the  same  hysterical  curiosity 

that  every  morning  drives  its  nail  into  my  head

 

a  hunger  that  inspires

as  it  massacres  the  imagination

 

the  entire  world  suddenly  mute

language  spurting  across  the  stratosphere

 

words  degrading  words

and loveless  minds  trapped  between  loveless  minds

 

a  cosmos  that  should  be  outlawed 

for  its  rich,  numbing  jihad

 

the  ever-nervous,  small  birds  still  sipping 

their  opulence  from  between  my  fingers

  

a  narcotic  frenzy  to  be  the  first

to  understand  the  universe

 

to  understand  the  crime  of  an  emptiness

which  has  no  beyond...

 

 

                                     (iii)

 

...in  truth,  what  sort  of  unsavoury,  hopeless  carnage

                    is  this,

this  dissection  that  finds  forest  fires

 

raging  beneath   the  skull,

that  reveals  bone-marrow  returning  to  the  sun

  

and  the  wind  draped  with  massive  arterial  blood?

it  is  a  tireless  methuselah,

 

 a  revelation  that  delights  in

stripping  humanity  naked

 

and  although  we  stand  in  a  cell

padded  with  promises

 

every  time  we  move

our  bones  split  apart

 

and  flaming  trees  begin  to  fall  from  our  eyes

we  have  become  poetry’s  desperate  matrix,

 

the  chains,  the  images,  the  blind  mathematics,

it  is  all  here  strewn  across  this  ancient  threshold

 

the  shy  interface  between  one  word  and  the  next...

 

 

                                           (iv)

 

...it’s  as  though  this  grim  chaos  is  some

          sort  of  script,

a  routine  gluttony,  a  celebration

 

the  anarchy  of  breathing,  for  example,

the  democracy  inherent  in  decomposition

  

but  no  one  can  tell  definitively

what  is  going  on

  

so,  we  are  left  digging  for  roots

left  scratching  the  walls  of  our  empires

 

the  greatest  of  mankind’s  hobbies

the  cults  of  transfiguration  and  luxury

  

a  salvation  achieved  simply  by  defecating

by  scraping  obscenities  from  beneath  our  fingernails

  

a  godless  love  the  only  remaining  truth

the  fearless  power  to  out-stare  chaos

  

and  seize  ourselves  in  stone...

 

 

 

                                       (v)

 

...and  now  the  rain  has  arrived

to  test  its  eloquence

 

to  parley  and  chat  prices

but  don’t  be  fooled

 

it  is  a  treachery,  a  connivance  to  avoid  meaning

for  of  course,  the  real  inundation  is  within

 

we  are  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  evil 

the  self-proclaimed  monument  to  paradise

 

a  genetic  fire  within  the  desert

the  science  of  IQ  sorcerers  and  comedians

 

all  happily  raping  each  other  and

          bleaching  the  stars,

all  intent  on  laughing  for  the  next  thousand  years

 

a  cutting-edge  hysteria 

forcing  driftwood  to  jam  the  heart

 

the  bloodwaters  calling 

a  single  shadow  incriminates  all

 

the  floodwaters  singing

now  may  be  the  time

 

the  time  to  let  integrity  drown...

 

 

                           (vi)

 

...this journey started when, for no reason,

I began vomiting the moons of Saturn

 

finally my mind's dark joy was out

and I could now detect

 

even in the smell and feel of sewage

a gorgeous inspiration

 

a grotesque appetite for the unknown

for at last I was inside-out

 

a renegade teasing the sun from my own navel

billions of astrocytes suddenly left destitute

 

and clamouring for a paper soul

for something at least of the dark joy

 

the veiled execution

that always promises to draw aside the curtain

 

and reveal the cheery slaughterhouse

full of Saturn's amputees

 

stones, rusting iron, trash

all lost in cavernous thought

 

an insight so stressful it could grasp and lift

            oceans

with poetry still on its knees

 

still howling at the unremitting universe

the black zero that patiently sits on the rocks

 

its yellow, razor eyes watching

thoughtless with only one thought

 

will we ever return?...

 

 

 

 

                                 (vii)

 

...this is no slapdash intimacy

no soundbite, fuck-you prophesy

 

that just smears neurons across the page

this language is really a cry for help

 

a declaration of the sweetest imaginable agony

the cancer that powers hell itself

 

the master virus who throws

down creatures from the clouds

 

genetic carnivores, freaks, gangsters

all yelping, all grinning with immunity

 

as they smash through my teeth

and descend searching for intimacy

 

for any chance

to ejaculate over my heart

 

a reproductive ice

the cunning semen of the priestess

 

the cry for help just another punctured blood vessel

another hallucinogenic outburst

 

this rare moment resembling peace

somewhat erudite, somewhat familiar

 

loveable and almost prophetic...

 

 

 

           (viii)

 

...this birthmark is a prison

an ignorance feeding the blood with excuses

 

an unstoppable mania

ripping carpets, stabbing clocks

 

the revelations, the centuries, the online ovaries

all trying to enumerate some tender, convincing apocalypse

 

the explosion of mankind’s love

yet another excuse to wrap children in martyrdom

 

zip-locked body parts

an asymmetry between life and life

 

caresses which have lost all meaning

and the freedom to enslave freedom

 

a sacred yearning of multitudes

to also genuflect with new, conscious flesh

 

and then to spice and swallow death whole

this birthmark between life and life

 

yet another excuse to feed the prison

and keep on and on stabbing...

 

 

                               (ix)

 

...alone there is no greater joy

than ransacking solitude

 

let’s, therefore, ornament greed

even refine the protocols around rape

 

no one will notice

because no one knows just how to punish luxury

 

this mad, disgorged wilderness

a savage, profane algorithm

 

our brother the gryffin

the app which smartens addiction

 

and turns the treadmill

from one verse to the next

 

a kaleidoscopic, effortless spin

to crush the world’s immensity

 

and bring down creation

the rhymesters, zealots, extroverts

 

there is no partition, no sweetener

because no one knows just how to punish existence

 

indeed how can the contraction of heart muscle

incinerate the consciousness of a star

 

is there not always the glamorous, iridescent air

the dice glowing in the shadows

 

this perverse delicacy of something in disarray

the oil, glaciers, famine

 

an anal discharge of such bliss it burns as it runs down

           the legs

 this passion for catastrophe

 

an instinct, unfortunately, that reaches nowhere

god the charmer of snakes

 

god the detonator

no one will notice

 

because no one ever has...