TURN

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TURN

Father sat
sunning himself

under
the full Moon tree

at which time
a bit of
self-same Sun

found its way
into his lap

but that
bit of Sun
was not
exactly
in his
image
was not
up to scratch

so he sat under the Moon tree
weighing up his options
(should he
create yet
another
dead galaxy?)

whilst the light
in his lap took
decided demonic turn.

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LUCKY GUY

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LUCKY GUY

before I close my eyes
one last time

let me
see them

get an image
in my
mind’s eye

library girl, so diligent,
erudite, her
pen about
to dissect
our world with
real surgical
precision

and an image too
of that other, the
alter ego to
everything sweet and
textually refined

wild guitar girl delivering
a thumping bass beat
so
hell-for-leather ready
perfectly
rock jacketed

you
finding it so
hard to choose between
these two
extremes

and so
I die of envy, one of
the seven deadlies

you such a
lucky (hit
that riff, girl)
lucky
lucky guy

FUZZY

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FUZZY

you miss me
almost as much as
your iPhone headset

love me
as much as
any of the cartoon
characters in
The Simpsons

care for me
as much
as you would
for your second
favourite houseplant
if it
got spots
on its leaves

and I night just
before you go to
sleep
you get ten seconds
of warm fuzzy feeling
thinking about me

OK, well just fuzzy,
but one out of two
can’t be all that bad

COUNTRY BOY

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COUNTRY BOY
“country matters”, Shakespeare,
Hamlet

we were
making love so sweet
it was getting like treacle

when I
mixing even more sugar
into my metaphor

flew back
from that
far-flung galaxy
to address
the state of the world

whose soul had been
long sold, controlled,
stripped of all
joy and
spontaneity

this the
last precious country
where you
can start where you
like, go
where you
wish to go
say
what you feel

READING CHANTAL MOUFFE

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READING
CHANTAL
MOUFFE

love is
never the
answer

for what
would be
the question?

to question is to
invite
conundrum, problem
deconstruction, negation,

stuff that you are reading
in this book edited
by Chantal Mouffe

under the covers
your

body naked

for me
that says enough
about love’s truth

RUM TALE

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RUM TALE

sinking rum until
the world could
perhaps dissolve

close one eye and
it could be Africa
could be Cuba

behind us, no bulwark with the Earth
warming so outrageously
these old colonial houses
where
honest souls, for
all I know, reside

or drug lords happy to
strike a deal whenever
buying or dispensing
best crystal meth or
crack cocaine

but the heat
the heat

the heat invades, interrupts,
edits and
inserts commentary

the mercury rising
fast as the ocean
(so reassuring a picture
of synchrony)

Oh deeper, deeper
we must go

get
more drug-addled

or find
comprehensive solutions

way past the moment
for clinical stroke of a pen

****

we thought they
were tiny fire lanterns
that had floated out far

but then
perspective came back
to haunt us
and we realized that
they were

tankers blazing, hit by
ship missile or torpedo
fired by hunter-killers
striking from the deep

the great superpowers
flexing their manly muscles
dick to dick in
deadly conflict

last bad conventional exchanges
before whole shebang
turn nuclear

and there
like a skinful of
rotting, flesh-decayed Tiresias

someone’s father’s father
scavenging the beach
for stuff to embrace, not
hide his nakedness

perhaps
some sea nymph of myth
desperate enough (as last
seconds tick)
to take him
to her bosom, offer
a moment’s solace (as the
stars are outshone, this
good as it
can get)

evangelical beauty, not wholly called
to self-sacrifice but
perhaps just fellate him

and who knows
even so sordid a love as this
could still save us

let our
man of the moment
pluck his
single string

play Nero-
style
whilst Rome burned, and London
and Paris and Berlin
and Moscow and
Athens and
Madrid and
Philadelphia
no brotherly love, cultural
practice, artistic vision
going to put
any of these, being eviscerated,
back together
***

we were all traveling
accumulating
accountable

thinking ourselves
masters of that board,
without question, Kings …. or
Queens

not pawns
just pawns

and in this game with life
(not death)

we see
no sign of death’s
massive adherence to
the rules
scrupulous
honesty

with death things
four-square, with life
we can sit
down, talk
negotiate it

soften the lines of
every individual square
make them each
a separate where
as different
as yellow chalk and
Brie

the ranks and files bending like rails as
we set out to create
metal-melting temperatures

and here
I stop to pause
and think
of you

now no third act will end
every
script now written

doomed
to premature conclusion

but you and I
on this beach if not exactly forsaking
at least ignoring all others

will stick
by our third act (resolve to
at this moment
whatever high water Hell the
consequences)

Oh this arrangement currently binding
tightly legal should
something spring

from it
should we get
boon out of it

the waves (surreal cliche) edging
towards tsunami

the fireworks
so spectacular
except

thermonuclear

each
airburst so undeniably
a genocidal
thing
of beauty

metaphor for dead
ecstasy

TROLL DA WAVE

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TROLL DA WAVE

peevish,
brutish

no wonder your
island shrinking,
no surprise
it going under

like my boyhood
hero, Captain Nemo
torpedoed that
Shakespearean garden
those sublime
white cliffs

Oh the sun setting
where it never sets
never shines

when you wake up
in the morning
from West and
East
squeezed
pencil-thin
(this what
they mean
by long division?)

skinny surfeit of a Continent
that could not (no matter
how hard
it tried) fit
you in

same sky but the
green and the
brown
refused the match

even though the picture on the box
said it is how it is

saw away, saw away,
but not at the branch the
body fat percentage
is
weighing down
today
(cut
right through
that and
then what
an obvious cliche)

WHICH GOT ME

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WHICH GOT ME

settled on the
frugal, simple
life of
a Socratic philosopher

until you
showed up, sauntered
past flaunting your
mathematical acumen

axiomatic awareness of
curved and parabolas

which got me
constructing twin scenarios
with all the
biological passion for
geometrical progression

measuring angles of
incidence, coincidence
escape velocities, trajectories,
speeds of re-entry

rehearsing these through my mind
practice, practice, practice
leading to perfection