GOOD MORNING

Tags

apocalyptic, Britain, British, Chaos, data, Ending, Fascism, Humanity, identity, Language, meaning, media, philosophical, philosophy, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, poststructuralist, power, Reader, satire, transformation, Truth, value, wordplay, writing

GOOD MORNING

I wanted to say
“good morning”
but the words
would not
come

and what use
are words anyway now
because this is
the world of
data, data

every facet of life
and self atomized
vaporized
boiled down to
data

served every which way
stripped of
human
meaning
void
of right and wrong

good morning
let me say
good morning

there is neither light nor darkness
where I am right now
just odd bits and bytes to
switch me
off
my program having run

SPIDER

Tags

meaning, memory, Nonlinear, pattern, poem, poetry, postmodern, the past, writing

SPIDER

the past
spidering around in my head

and me looking
to join the dots
establish connections

live in a linear world
of causality again

a world where if I touch you
there is impact, impression

something in your brain
that tells you I have
fallen into your web

for worse
than
worse
(or
almost
better)

depends on
the paradigm

line it
follows

trajectory
it offers

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

THEIR WORD

we have to
take their word
for it

this Big Bang thing
cosmic inflation, Universe expanding

too much insight
here could
drive you mad

since where
matter and energy supposedly came from
a question that
does not make sense so
better off
not asking

the laws of physics at that point
just a bare suggestion,
tentative hypothesis

and then the
consciousness we are
not supposed to have
no reason for it, flimsiest
rationale

but what if the Universe is
a bit more mindful than
we give it credit for

right now, as wave fronts merge
and patterns are interfering

Hamlet on the
battlements thinking
just my luck to be
dragged into a tragedy
by a ghost

and this ghost being of
my father, man
who neglected me

the stars look like shards
fragments of
a primal mirror
so no
complete picture

waves crashing below, as they
will for a literary eternity at Elsinore

how he would love, how we
would love (since
he speaks so much
for us)

to slip into a pool
of blue luminescence

who cares
whether it be a boundless ocean
or barely a pond?

ON HIS DEATHBED

as he aged his
key dictum increasingly became:
love every single
living thing

this he felt ever more
insistently and clearly

until
on his deathbed
a vision of love dawned
upon him
deep and true

to the extent that he figured
he had even begun
to understand
a tiny
bit better
the female gender
of the
human species