First excursions

Starved, ragged, tired

Sweet anemia extends
through tissue bone and limb
dive down and suffer from the bends
I can’t lift a muscle
cough fatigue and fever chills
no hedonism thrills

A new life horizontal
to drown in sickbed smell
and to succumb in narrow room
all’s ill, unwell
to need to stand
and having need and will
to cannot rise and to lie still

Health is wasted on the healthy
fact I, like you, forget
and soon a tepid gloom denies
all autonomous action
strangled by immune reaction
pills and headaches and advice
that daily obsession

Be patient
and tell me are you feeling better?
Or shall we change the dose?
Don’t get too close
and wear a mask, please
pandemic quarantine disease
are words you’ll wish
you never learned

Two jabs, left right
and here I am out cold
but don’t dare spare a thought
it’s only for the best, you see
I love complaining
to moan to groan
to nurse a body made of stone
suffering always gives me
such sick pleasure

If I had a time machine

I would not use it
to visit dead reptiles
instead I’d test out
the principle
of Igor Novikov
the physicist from Russian

Did you know that
it is theoretically possible
in theoretical physics
for closed timelike curves
to exist?

Meaning I could go back
and visit dead ages
this assuming relativity
generally
and assuming
a single timeline
at least for this universe
if there are others
which there may be

But the trick is
no paradoxes
which means
you can’t change
nothing at all
all determinism is true
for your life
is a closed loop

So when I went back
I would only
glimpse
innevitability
from a different angle
like checking your haircut
with two mirrors

I should hope he was wrong
the physicist from Russia
and I would use the machine
to find out
if my words were known
before I could speak
or this poem written
before I could write it

Are the only solutions
to the laws of physics
that can occur locally
in the real universe
those which are
globally self-consistent?

Free will is an illusion
I cannot will myself to fly
no matter my determination
and Novikov said
that the same laws
which prevent my flight
also prevent me
from changing history

Indecision is an alternating current

When I skate over the water
on a boat in neural streams
hear the thump of liquid thought
rushing, pushing on my hull
hard conciousness emerging
creating noise and vulnerability

Then each wave starts to get closer
roaring flat with silver heads
sharp as sharks beneath the bed
all sense lives in the ears now
the only evidence is sound and turns
of balance, I splay each finger out to grip

Hold on, I want to shout, before
the big one hits and takes me
a momentary hesitation shakes
a lapse then relapse then distraction
surges from a blue volcano
followed by a dull thud, thrown off

The current plays and mocks a dance
twists and coils, easy reptileness
first it goes this way then that way
so the structure itself moves
falling down and leaving me rising
into the unsteady air of salt or dew

An eternity of motion
I have time to watch the facts strip away
leaving only cold cobalt blue below
to gaze into it is to see the abyss calling
a boiling sea rolling, still angry
as my self reaches a natural apex

When the suspension point arrives
all laws of physics tense and pause
I can fly or hover magically
well, only for a second forever
before gravity eventually grips heels

I have the uncomfortable feeling of falling
The air beats past my ears, all liquid
inside bubbles up and falls along
in suspended animation like in orbit
or unreal renders of unreal life
each hair whips front and I face
the coming prospect of great pain and injury

Speeding to fate I realise with fright
that indecision has the same cool quality
and just before thought becomes theory
or is expressed in words and forms
I reach the water’s surface, pure white
hard head of ice, of winter, hits me

Burn out

Is it better to burn out
or to fade away?
The collapse inwards
a neutron star would envy
this immense, unfathomable
pressure
titanic forces thicken
as hardening magma
all air forced out
a claustrophobia
and the unbearable
hissing shut
steam and dust and chalk
and bits of flashing metal
rise and rotate
round rings orbit the evil
veil of energy
an atomic force breathing
raw power
raw speed
no life no virus no seed
can survive
such calamity

It signifies nothing
this fury of sound
but a nature at odds
with its own children
and when the elements
of such a magnitude
collapse
stars of their own drama
protagonists of death
you can feel a glory
of destruction beyond imagination
scales extending beyond
all reason all record
and the strength
of a billion bombs
releasing a choking fume
a sulfur perfume
to heat the core
so hell grows jealous

The result then
is a pure nothingness
a void
the heart a black hole
and no hope extends over
the horizon
a non-event
depression settles in space
you can’t actually describe a place
that is not a place
or a spectrum
no instrument could see
notes no one could play
the choice not to be
and an explosion which
leaves no room
for room itself ceases
the word becomes unspoken
and the beginning reaches its end
forming the unmistakable
circular shape
of a snake swallowing
its own tail
or the black of a wolf
swallowing the sun
along with everything else too

If it’s better to burn out
then why is the result
the same?
A nonexistent flame
in a universe without a name

Grow to rot

To fall in love
with the future
is to fall in love
with death

On the personal level
in the playing field
of your trickling life
you grow to rot

To decay is to be reborn
as something useful
to be reconsumed
and to rise from ashes

Thus hope and the void
hold each other
not as strangers
but as lovers

At once starboard

All right of ship the rotten flowers bloom
these gifts as poison in a cup of private fear
a gulp of facts or news in heavy room
await a visitor on foot arriving here

At once starboard look there and catch
with bated breath wide eyes cold toes
and insides turning as you light a match
meter the shapes of waves in pale rows

A gulf of mind in river glassy ice
pushed age on age down tears in rock
the taste of salt, the sodium to thrice
come gurgling back and pause, take stock

Awake, awake, you’ve fallen sleepless now
insomnias with dreams in dreams they hum
a mind evolved where rotten nerves ask how
yet finally the mornings come
yes finally the mornings come

Woman of the mound

I knew a woman once
who told me
in earnest
she heard the terror
cry of her family banshee
heard it echo
years ago across
the field in front of the old house
out west

It signified an end
to be sure
and when the cry stopped
ringing in her ears
the heart still
going fast
a phone ringing now
in the sitting room
news
the aunt was dead

And dangerous fairies
were real again
crawled in from the tales
at night
nature again
a force to be feared
goosebumps on my skin

Icons

An icon is to be
seen or approached
in quiet halls or rooms
or realms or caves
kneel before them
bathe in the yellow light
and kiss the glass
a face beneath your face
let it saturate
let go of all that hate
you learned
release all forms of sorrow
be a non-toxic element
and pray you see the like again

Smell the perfume
incense or myrrh or mirth
a fog of life or smoke
or something else
and reading makes you woke
from this false sleep
of ignorance or night
and see that this
is the only way

I tell you pray
that one day one day
we shall crown the mother god
return to the womb
from which the galaxy burst
and see the glory
not of the cradled babe
but of the face which looks
with kindness on it
no harm shall come to he
who sees equality
or they that cherish and confess
of error and fallibility
reject all orthodoxy all tradition
all that which sows against the truth
a truth which says
you are my friend
we are as one in this sanctuary
I love you as I love myself

Be the image

See them blending
ever blurring
these pixels mix with sand
fall from the sky
ash
or snow
and raster bits
sharpness fails
the noise
grows loud
and image turns to sound
cover my ears
but keep my eyes open

If words

If words could melt
a frozen heart
made cold
by arctic past
then mine will do it

The fall into another

There is a poetry
to loving for the first time
a touch then kiss
then heavy breathing
the feeling of rushing

The rhythm
of bodies together
entering carefully
and the fall
into you completely

And later let go
after the struggle together
in the wet sheets
and the smell
of lust in the room

Release
is a glorious word
that look in your eyes that says
I love you
and captures me so