BODY TELLS YOU

Tags

Beauty, Creation, Creativity, erotic, female, Humanity, identity, innuendo, Language, loss, love, male, meaning, philosophical, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, power, psychological, semiotics, sexual symbolism, the body, transformation, woman, wordplay, writing

BODY TELLS YOU

body tells you
are entering
dark world

no
uncertain terms

this body
you reject as
foreign virus, want nothing to
do with, can’t conceive
of anything to do with

Oh for a Universe
where we are all networked, we are
all reiteration, repetition,
we do not mince words
every sentence
has an
exclamation mark and
we stomp through the future like
sexual cyborgs
whose passion is
pre-coded in
each nuclear fuel cell

I digress
hopefully depress

would I could fly off at a tangent
hit escape velocity
and not stop until
I have left the
solar system met

Vega’s blue aliens

and yet
something in how I was written
sure to get me
boomeranging back to you
(aches beyond human understanding
down deep and dreamtime in my didgeridoo)

your pet theory
poet on a leash

otherwise
no ties
to hold me

or matching handkerchief

but
slipping the wire
snaking away

today I’m the dog in the adage
having my day

my energies
to the naked eye semi-
invisible

not yet the sort
that smash, mutate flesh

and yet
almost if upon cue
my body
to frail, odd
to contain
crumbles, falls to bits

Oh that I had that red boiling blood
of the raw alpha predator

not gamma guy
seems to
have the Cain trademark branding of
an entirely different galaxy

Oh
your palace of the self
that you assumed
safe for centuries

is tipping, toppling, enduring
the inconvenience of
slightly more than slight seismic shift

slides into an ocean of
collapsing Moon cards

my body
ever a mirror for
such phenomenal
conjuncture

gone liquid metal to
Mercury-message you

that which the future has determined, has
sworn it will have from us, will
absolutely make of us

would rise from its grave
having won every bet

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BEAUTIFUL

Tags

Beauty, exclusion, female, love, poem, poetry, semiotics, sexual symbolism, Universe, wordplay, writing

BEAUTIFUL

Your words are beautiful
but sweep over me
leaving me
thankful and
yet sad, and drained

sometimes grace does that to us
reminds us of the mountain of
which we no longer dream

and so, in keeping, let us
get to my words and
their specific failures

so crazy in their assumption
that they have power to move
if not the soul, then spirit
and body into some
kind of purpose, serious action

or something which, ever so slight,
coupled with, dovetailing into
millions of
moments so small,

quietly shifts
orbits, alignments,
the configuration of
the constellations themselves

and suddenly
the words
yours, mine

everyone’s

have changed everything, created a
Universe of new meaning.

FIT

Tags

Alien, erotic, female, love, male, philosophical, poem, Poet, poetry, poststructuralist, science fiction, sexual symbolism, touch, Twist in the tail, Universe, wordplay

FIT

there is an alien species
swarming in my bed

their queen
whispering sweet
alien nothings
in my ear

telling me that
we are
made for each
other

her wings
are enough to carry me

and that, in spite
of the tricky
linguistic differences

we are
a perfect fit

PALACE OF SLEEP

Tags

afterlife, Creation, Creativity, death, Dream, Keats, Poe, poem, Poet, poetry, Rebirth, writing

take me to the Palace of Sleep
where the air is hashish-heavy
as thick with dark autumnal cloud
as anything written
by Poe or Keats

sky dragging itself across
as if stuck somewhere
and out to test the winds

but let me
sink into that darkness
night so perfect, it is the null equation,

there
where words are absorbed, lines, phrases
disintegrate, are so carefully dismantled
scattered like leaves
on a river, like momentary
phosphorescence on the ocean

no dream here, at least
none that
is remembered,
only the blending of
currents, change,
reconfiguration

she said that I reminded her of Keats once
this before she got married
but after we
were lovers

perfect sleep in her arms then
no thought of
darkness, any kind of
renewal, rebirth, re-
definition of self

as figure who writes
not figure who loves

the gates to every Palace
secretly open
unbeknownst to me
at that
most lost of lost moments

THE TOUCH

Tags

love, poem, poetry, touch

THE TOUCH

you cannot say a
touch

gainsay it, second-
guess it

it speaks without words
connects, is transformative

the words pouring out my mouth
beginning to stumble
but I am
still on track, will
still find all it is
I wanted to tell you

even though
with the
touch

there is a poem
hurtling down the line
it has no rails
would break every rule

it is just full
of the suddenness of
your mouth, your skin
your eyes

my very first
love poem
for you
traveling at light-speed

just one
touch but
it went

very deep
indeed

ON THE ROAD

Tags

poem, poetry

ON THE ROAD

Excess leads
to the Palace
of Wisdom

this William
Blake said
getting me
all fired up

revving
on that road

but then
my books, that
Sisyphus load,

too
heavy to
carry, but

cannot
leave.

PIPING

Tags

poem, poetry

PIPING

“like a fiend
hid in a cloud”
William Blake

so chuffed with themselves
about bringing me
to this grisly place
of cosmic
afterthought

I watched them
try to teach me
to walk, to
talk
shit in a plastic pot
as I began
to learn
arsehole from
elbow and

the rest of
that philosophy

WILLIAM BLAKE MOMENT

WILLIAM BLAKE MOMENT

bit
by bit

he built
his wall

a spectacular
wall

not to
exclude,
prevent, enclose or
protect

but to
hang pictures
in case he
gets a
William Blake
moment

WHERE NOW, MARY SHELLEY

WHERE NOW, MARY SHELLEY

I see
Percy Shelley
standing out in
the open

on the shore of
an alien sea

waiting for his android
wife’s return (carrying
android child
still to
be born)

returning to him
infinitely.

KEATS

precious to be like Keats
squeezing a last poem
out with final flourish

the words fighting the
very darkness they
have emerged out of
to
which again headed