january 2019

 

                             (i)

 

...it is surely a fatal, infectious conceit

to fill the streets with messiahs

 

to have love flow down tunnels

and scars grow over children’s eyes

 

sadly our world has but one friend and enemy

and we will triumph

 

only when we learn to conquer ourselves

and flow like painless water

 

flow like anemones that open with human hearts

radiating blood

 

but this is just an if-and-when moment

that sadly no one may ever recognise

 

the laurels being placed by default

on those who have already scars instead of eyes

 

and yes, stones beget stones

they lie deep within the blackened streets

 

deep inside the gurus

the clowns, the hucksters

 

whose sole, cruel meaning of life

is to suck love down into the tunnels

 

and laugh

as every enemy becomes a friend

 

and every friend an enemy...

 

 

 

                           (ii)

 

...how can you find more of you than you yourself

or see inside your own thinking flesh

 

can you even trace the circumference of a billion years

just to show eternity is a waste of time

 

existence now rightly questions itself

and yet, and yet the forest still breathes foreboding

 

something is moving

shadows break and merge back into shadows

 

the undergrowth stirs, a branch snaps

and the survivors slip cautiously out into the open sun

 

dozens and dozens of man-lizards

stand like sequined statues

 

quietly splitting the light

surrounded by the intensity of a billion years

 

their minds tasting the air

their eyes fixed on the algorithms they have become

 

and yet, and yet even with all this ingenious artifice

that sees inside and reads their flesh, they know

 

there is nothing more of themselves to find

they are complete, they are glorious, they are defined...

 

 

 

 

                        (iii)

 

...just before my death finally arrives, the muses will come

and together they will squat down on my body

 

and begin to methodically unpick my purple skin

searching for the thousands of questions I never asked

 

and then, the final insult, each will push her sex

into my dying face and leave

 

their judgement will be clear

I failed, I proved to be useless

 

a piece of inept bio-trash

untouched by ultimate things

 

and so in order to live, it seems

I murdered myself

 

and yet long before my birth the muses were already there

everyday swimming beside me

 

their amniotic fingers

busily sewing thousands of lists into my skin

 

giving me at least the chance to think past

the epic intricacy of things

 

to hold, if only for one heartbeat

this vast, burning universe in my arms

 

but, as is now obvious, I am unworthy

for I have become just another illegitimate ape

 

clutching my sex, my hate, my hunger...