What the Romans did
Was not romantic
The Romance philology
Is not the romance of a dance
Of two across the wax and wane of moons.
A mistaken attribution of etymology.
These new dictionaries
Nets that recognise Stockholm syndrome
As their most familiar pattern of submission
Lack sense
Equating Romance with a process of conquest and invasion
Wittgenstein on this equation.
And so this is Christmas
And what have you done
Built a beautiful belfry for bats
Saw a hypnotised squirrel yesterday
Looking fat
Wondered on matter and n-dimensional data
Ignored theorised quarrels of hearsay.
There's the odd sketch over there
An equation or two
A climate of fear
But climate talks are not new.
I have hit the nail on the head
(Not less than three pails
Two taps to fix and three to strike dead
Is fifteen thousand if my maths does not fail)
Next year the quest will accelerate
Will the next earthquake be something to celebrate?
The goose and the gander
The Pope and the pander
The Pulitzer prize propaganda
They're clearly not in control of the lot.
It's hard to know where this old machina goes
Trifurcated in infinite flows
What parts are old, what parts are new
What parts over written and what came from who.
And so this is Christmas
And what have they done
If they shot the next John Lennon
Then no one heard the gun.
People try to put us down
Talking about sea pangolin proteins
Magnetite and appoferretin genes
Self assembling inductor coils
From an encrypted ribosome
That leaves us foiled.
Just because we get around
Nose swabs
A quantum in quarantine
Bright lights, tiny capillary
Gone to baby's, Faraday to Monday
Someday to Man Friday, Majorana, isolated
Like the minimal genome
And many denizens of monasteries.
I'm not trying to cause a big sensation
Narrowcast, bespoke ambitions, synthesised
Tailored made mass missions
Ontological data supplied
Surviving what's missing
Personalised medicine prescribes
A wider manumission.
I'm just talking about
Polydimethylsiloxane, nano-piezo dynamos
E.g. CNT, s.elongatus, opto-genetic photosynthesis, QED
The essence, flourescence of the brain's 14 watts AC
Body 2 kW sprinting free.
40% loss over 2m, where does it go?
Beats me.
It doesn't really matter
Whether accident or plot
Nor knowledge of Newton's law
If the boiler don't run hot.
It doesn't matter if you're rich
If you can't spend what you've got
And knowing how a gun works
Won't stop you getting shot.
You can ink and fold the paper
It won't make a Rorscharch blot
Have a thousand dinner dates
And never tie the knot.
It doesn't help to pin a map
If you can never join the dots
And knowing how a gun works
Won't stop you getting shot.
There is so much video calling
So little touch
Like that ferrous curtain falling
When the worst of wars abated
All the planes and ships in port are stalling
A Silken wave has undulated.
The blind watchmaker fumbles for his eyes
The parts and springs spread on the table
That poor memory denies
Though his nimble fingers able.
Will this watch be made on time
Will this timepiece be forever fated
To run late, always behind the line
A Silken wave has undulated.
For some time was discarded
The noise around our phones
Till ways were found for recording
The waves flowing from our bones.
On this crowded planet it has been restated
We are not alone
A Silken wave has undulated
Cross the thresholds of our home.
There is more room at the bottom
Too much weight up top
The words of Marx and Richard Feynman
Cannot be forgot
Are we to drown in the heaving wake
Of these devices we've created
Is it possible some path to make
As allies elevated?
As our planet nears collapse
Like our hemispheric lobes
A Silken wave has undulated
Right across the globe.
Where is this now
And where f
What is thought when
f {
If
Statements. Statesmen
Cannot state
Then
Where is the State
Without violence being
The highest power
Value :The highest power
(Lives between the lines
Shadow filming
Light's absences, the edges of cracks
Fed of lorry droppings, Manillaed cash);
If
The highest power ebbs
Wanes like the pulling moon
Decays like rooves and architraves of Rome
Then
The highest power: refresh
f: {The highest power
Instated
If
{Denatured State: state of nature;
Naturalised in a Y
Enabled dark future.};
Elseif
{All state their nature: natural state
Statesmen statement
Y
Future enabled equals
C};};};
She scratches at the wall
Like grief's tethered ghost
Like love without air
I wish an opening but lost
Some exit from despair
Yet with care cannot sing her awakening.
Force cannot make her being
Grow. For swords will but cut flesh
Song only move mind with eyes seeing
Ears hearing, but she is not a guest.
She is but a dead ghost scratching
At the walls,tethered in sorrow.
I
At dusk I heard the Owl
In the Oak forest
Spring Garlic and Acorns
Most will not grow
Solely for the grass is mown.
I will dig them like truffles
Carry them home. Again
Took flowering Plum stems
A deep inhalation like steam
Planted where the canal overflows to a stream
That fresh negative charge.
Ionic
In revivifying perturbations I recall
I once sat with a dispossessed Princess
Who would not eat Plum sauce pancakes
But would stop to breathe waterfalls.
II.
I have staked plum staves in the park
This reverse Perestroika
Big Society 2.0 and for what
The earth is sparse and falls like dust
I haves staked plum staves in slopes
So the banks don't collapse
Staked Apples staves amid the Oaks
Of Bramley Fall assuming at an age pensionable
No one will recall these strange routines
At dawn, at dusk, melatonin, adrenalin
The catabolisation of achetylcholine.
I have a dream
That one day the Apple and the Oak
Will entwine their roots in a spirit
Of synchoronous symbiosis and shared possibility
Let flourishing ring
At least in one corner of this native field.
III.
Will the plum taken from our garden
Rejoice in this new rhizosphere
Rediscovering its split self
That flourishes still where stood
The old Farmhouse of Bramley Hill
Where stands the steel strutts
Of a threadbare post war peace
Where stands the timber and poly-isocyanate
As temple to a fragile belief
That endo-symbiotic eukaryotes may
Enable the NOD factor and grass, lichens,
These plums staves that are not yet trees
Shall slowly process simple acts of complex God
What is it to have dreams like these, today?
IV.
Curioser and Corvosier
Let freedom ring
From the deforested slopes of the Himalayas
To the rich soil of Bramley Fall
Let freedom ring
Across this new geometry of a native field
That is forever rambling.
V.
I heard the Owl
All's well that ends well
Or Orwell, oh well
This Owl belongs to Bramley Fall
And if attended or unattended
But not in between
The apples will grow
In the wood by the stream.
VI.
If
This
{The last apple
The last Bramley Apple in Bramley
An apple of discord
An apple of knowledge
A fig}
= true
Then
Error
If
This
{Monocultural cloning
Reseeding
Mitosis produced twinned electrons
Bioshpere crisis}
= true
Then
Lucky I planted those trees.
VII.
There are apple staves staked in dank pots
In December, those darkest of days
I heard,this will not be forgot
When in the grip of chill returned dismayed
My thought was all the staves would rot
Yet dank pots with no gaps like marsh
Where nourishing. This spring sprung
Bud from seemed dead wood, the green spear
The mixed earth, sand, clay rock,soil
Bramley, Fibonacci, Lamarck, smile.
This evening
Wax light, dove white danced softening over the field
Air a layered strata of the calls of shy flowers
Chi vibrating between palm and the back of my hand
A sinusodial flicker struck black across the dusk.
What is it now like for Whales?
What for the frenetic dusk loving morse of motion
That flits the grass past silhouettes of leaf
Could we translate its state in nets of bits electric
Boltzman, Bernouli, Monte Carlo?
In spring I threw bird seed upon the piled terrace of clay.
The apples are falling from the tree again today
An early windfall pitted brown with grubs
The kitchen sink lies upturned upon the ground
What is it now like to hunt in sound?
A parasite will make mice like cats
Perhaps now we will make the habitat for birds and beans
As discipiles of these strange ways as means
Will they thank us for that?
Have we understood the pathways
The intermediary of inter-species empathy
Can be constructed upon our theories
The instruments unmeasurable but in their own terms
Can this language even know Chi or why it rises in viscosity?
Are we only to speculate.
The post enlightenment uses of delusion
Latter day latency of thought and memory
What were the last words of that gnat
If we could translate its mind
Could we know each other better, could we know bats?
The market has no lights
Lined stalls darkle
Lamp black against charcoal
Blind patrons bump and stumble
Braille reading whares and hands.
This is good business
A nudge lifts a wallet from a pocket
A stolen fraud flogged to a judgeless mouth
Some item lifted, broken, returned.
Blink, the black, black moonless gallery
The footfalls, low ceilings, the ringing alarms.
What will sense deprived customers
Leave carrying in their pockets and garms?
What will be left on the stalls?
The electrician came
He too felt the conflict of hands upon wires
The grasping and wrestle in the dark
Insensate senses without pedagogi
And did the globe light?
The pins and spots, tricolor, slashes and dots
Nerve endings euthanised
Lest they describe what the hands are holding
The market is still dark
Patrons leave petrified
Feeling their pockets
Like Schodinger's trap.
Opportunity knocks
Daily these days
All these small opportunities
With their infinite ways
Opportunity knocks
Sometimes quite loudly
Often is the most demanding of guests
Full of calls for small favours
Suggestions, requests
It often doesn't have behaviours
Apposite to polite etiquette
All the crowding opportunities
Some weighted with regret
It is often the case
That an entrance loudly proclaimed
Leaves guest that stays long after hours
And long past entertained
But when opportunity knocks
One can rarely complain
For as they come once,
Then they will come again.
When opportunity knocks
It can get under your feet
But with neat feet the opportunity
Can become complete
And with one opportunity complete
They become repleat
Then opportunity knocks on repeat and repeat.
Why tell a lie
It looks so like Versailles
We flog off the phone chips,
The air strips, the NHS too
Wrapped in a ribboned package
Without further ado.
It seems a short-sighted loss
Or reparations of war
We'll even sell off the Cross
On the flag of St. George.
Today I passed the Sunday papers
Let Tesco store the determinants
The various possibilities at least
They pay for data.
Today I parsed the tarmac
Carpark and the Starlings
Have sickened. Hiding between packed bumpers
They had recovered some numbers since spring.
Will they migrate, this flock. The papers
They ask nothing. Tell everything
Moral outrage and the photo editor
Is it that black energy that really matters?
Of migration routes, Baretta, for some soul
Has flown an Albatross across Oceans
Weaponised like a polarised Coleridge's foretelling retold
Do we not see to where this all begins
The papers which I haven't read speak no evil
Nor cite last year's laws making all GMO's illegal
Sequence editing patentable
Do you discriminate against the preciousness of time?
What hippocampal regions remain latent
That actin, the acting, the tight strung line.
The starlings in the carpark have taken for a fever
Like the pigeons did with claw foot
The bent fingers of the Mudra, their pallium
That possibly with care and regard we might reach.
The football evolves on the green
From the retelling of penalty shots, to pass and stroll
Some young white civillian
Sits with her red hair against the railings
Of the goal, her brother's push the bold mouthed boy's head
Toward the soil, softly as they might teach.
Some young white civillian
Has died in a jail cell
With predictive data driven stochastics
I couldn't be more sarcastic
If I mentioned Blair <!--the Giant--> Peach
Plus the Injustice of every and all those between each.
In these most rotten times
For ministers there is one unforgiveable crime
It is not to steal from the public purse
Nor lie on screen so well rehearsed
Nor lie off the cuff just unrehearsed
Nor fill the graveyards, break the hearse
Nor take bribes from foreign powers
Nor meet ambassadors after hours
Nor run off to yachts or Carib cots
Nor have no grasp of pertinent facts
Nor dither long and fail to act
The crime of state set far above
Is to be caught in the act of love.
For we can die on trolleys
Die in ICU
Die in care home beds
Die in hotels too
Overpay the staff
And undercrew
Pay grand fees to all your mates
But the highest crime beyond debate
The one sin the spin cannot cover
Is to be seen by the team in the arms of your lover.
Mistakes, mishaps, incompetence, corruption
Simple sabotage, complex disruption
Are all expected, indeed acceptable,
In high society even respectable
But the one unforgiveable vice
Is to be caught in a kiss with the love of your life.
There is no signature to the sickness more explicit than this
Hired for murder, sacked for a kiss.
Look forward
Not down
Look to the cowards
Do they wave or drown
The townscape debates its own change
The investment it takes
To dig pipes, rearrange
Logic is a God built on these premises
Dismiss this as twisted
Or meditate on the relevance of Venice
Pontoons about the Arsenal
Inflatable barriers, cruise ships and carriers
We will all live in blocks and bubbles
Expect life expectancy's
Divergent inequalities, the troubles
The emergent qualities
Unqualified, who will survive
Land a foot on the far side
Or grip and dig your nails in
Hanging on in the face of this
Mid air over the precipice.
Dear Professor Wenger CBE,
I ocassionally
Mix metaphors and messages, make typos and digress, but yes
I have been thinking
Thinking about thinking and how we now think
But the thing is. The club.
I'm sorry, I digress
I guess my previous correspondence long forgotten
Some missed previous missives among your post mountain
I have written to you before with great alacrity
In your previous capacity.
But the thing is
In thinking about thinking
I have missed a lot of football
And missed indeed the terraces
But I digress
Smith-Rowe yes, Maitland-Niles, well some distress
Saka, of course, but I always opt for less adventurous
Despite everything you taught us.
But in thinking about e.g. EEG
Protein expression, yes, pattern mapping
The delay lag of nerve fibre transmission being
18 metres per second at least for sodium
The main channel, Calcium only 3. Canals
Oh sky, I see, sorry I digress.
I have not played any software
Football games, but FIFA
Is a vertical institution of rule based
Patterns and understandings
A grass roots to high arts
Lonely road to global stage
An institution that encompasses all this
And in this age
What is the club?
It is not an orange biscuit.
Nor an item to beat a foe's brow
But a classic democratic institution
The question, what is sport?
What more?
Those biscuits.
In our memory, circuitry
Rhythms and traditions
All recall the fireworks
Left, left, roof, the fleet of foot
The hard studs, that looping arc so late.
I digress.
These regular patterns and powers
The second order value
Of all these dreams of ours
Where did they take
These gambles with dreams
From dust spitting ruts
To manicured greens?
Invasion is not sport
The professional is not the fan
Though both dream of fireworks
Some handle gunpowder, and others
So the least invasive...
Achilles, did he blame his mother?
Or accumulated blood restriction in the tendon's connection.
These tendencies, to digest
I remember the wisdom of Adams
A pain in the neck, arm aloft, the teeth
The heel on the through ball of Shevchenko's golden chance
A look of wonderment askance, an imperious stride, a glide
I digress.
But if FIFA
Is the global custodian of dreams
The dreams of fans, of children
Well heeled, feet bare
Kicking dust into the air
Of graceful professionals who at great cost
In the face of fear and loss
Stake the prize of a whole dreamt life
Everything for which we all cared
And yet after the white line...
Then what is the club?
Who should own these dreams and patterns
And how should they be shared?
What is the value, not of a fan's dream
Or a players dream, but both combined
What is the value of the dream
About the combination
One-two, third man
What shape is similar to that pattern
Among the stars and flowers
The shaking earth, the accounting columns
And I still can't do kick ups
Even after little Ryan
Showed me the step-over and catch on the fields
Carling cup appearance, went to Millwall
A wisp with grace, such a precise pass
All you had to do was run straight
Tell him which foot and off your laces
But I digress
The editing of these dreams
A subtle possession
And what of Carbon Dioxides effect on grass
When 420ppm is passed. Napoleon, maybe like Dale Vince
We should watch the pitch from trees.
I have only passing understanding
And this may need some editing.
Now on the monitors
TV, laptop, phone, floodlights
Wednesday nights, these vibrations
The quanta, I wouldn't want to hazard a guess
How all that messiness combines
Umpaloompas, curses, never mind, I digress.
Let us pray
No digression
We were so used to 87% possession. But yes
Medical monitoring, the treatment table
The efficacy of prayer is messy
But we can't start doing that
Bolt from the blue.
We could do that too
Protein expression monitoring
Homeopathy over wifi
And the club.
A less invasive, more digitally generous
Generally better intentioned dimension
Than memory editing and opposition
Joy and tears, the perfect super-position
And if all this is given
Taken as given
Taken, (he saved so many relegations)
Give or take, it is not remotely my decision
But that is one vision
Of the club.
And what is the nation
Is this tuned into the right station
Argentina, Hungary, England, Torino
What is territory and testosterone
Now there is no regard for borders
Fans film on their phones,
Films film on our blood and bone
Satellites link our experience
Is there creativity? And what of orders?
The following disorders
Competition on the training pitch
Pitch battles before the match
The club, the territory, secrecy, the terrace
The marshlands of Munich's centre circle
What is fair? What is a game
Tokyo must ask the same
Histones, cryptocrome, ribosomes and all
In my day it was nandrolone and roids
Now all boys want to be Pep droids
Oleg Blokhin, Dynamo, how will we ever get to know?
Now safe standing, in my understanding
May be a resounding success
But as a man on a building site
I can but hazard a guess, suggest
Not that I am ever (Banega) asked
Players need gas masks for a start
And to fully play their part
In the club
What of emotion, what of learning
What electricity, what cytokine
What is it that can be shared?
A 4 m/s transmission rate
Is sunshine football
Barely legible above the Rhine
The first time I saw Ibrahimovich
Play for Barcelona was in the snow
Well it was not the first time
And they were in the snow
I was in my living room
They were on TV, you know
I digress
Dani Alves, with a snood on his head
Clearly a contravention
Puyol turning purple in his shorts
A man from the mountains
That full tilt timing, peerless
I digress
That semi-final masterclass
Xavi
Now if Xavi can do that in Qatar
And we've only come this far
And FIFA is the only globally integrated
Vertical, horizontal, voluntary
Cross-cultural inter-planetary, inter-dimensional
Inter-intelligence, post cartesian physical
Aspirational vehicle
Then
What is the club?
It is not an orange biscuit
Not in the context of FIFA
And I confess, I have eaten
One or two orange biscuits
And I am sure others have too
But the club
As a democratic voluntary replacement for strife
For distraction from the factories
For solidarity, camaraderie
For jumpers to be made into a fungible computation of Wembley
For joy and company, evincing all these things
And the love of the game
But I digress,
I sometimes miss a message, mix a metaphor
And yes
I have missed a lot of football
And have more questions than commentary
I had my windows fixed last spring
By the man who moved your fish
The Carp, I hope their spirit calm
And wish you the best of complexes.
Now there is something I hope to catch
Not a game, but a match, I hear this is where it starts.
Dover Port
Will take HMG to court
The charge, what could it possibly be?
The Governmnet acting irrationally.
Brexit, immigration, the Castle
Gatehouse of the nation
Our Garden to be a semi-mobile wall
Visible from space and all.
Billions on the track and trace
Gov, spare a penny in the right place
Yet not a bean for Customs
Just trust that they can catch
All those latchkey refugees en masse
En marche, sur la Manche.
Like they fish the cancered Sole
The French exact a heavy toll
While we will "juxtapose control"
With post-modern chaos, oh so bold.
Fill the Island with undocumented migrants
Deregulated people, smuggled goods and pirates
It's the least we owe the fishing ports
Now the cancered Sole is short
Small boats can go on the make
Cherries on deregulated cake
While all the lorries belch and shake
Surely there is some mistake.
The executive will defend most vigorously
The culmination of its long term policy
Pursue that post-enlightenment trajectory
Of working backwards and irrationally.
It all adds efficiently
Transparency, duplicity
Everybody is known
And it's recorded what's done
So balance the equation
Either with law or a gun.
They sit in plain sight
Neither hide, nor do they run
This nation's blight
The greed of high station.
It can never add up
Now the killing's begun
You can't balance this equation
Without law or a gun.
Excuses are just descriptions
Of the challenge
You could not overcome
They do nothing
And get nothing done.
Yemenis are also Arabs
The cursed Scarab the weeping cherub
The flat land beside the sea
The chariots over Galilee
What odds of peace at ten to one
Symbols, projectiles, projections
The back and forth, forth and back
Time, space, culture all attacked.
Passing the bridge
The new planted saplings hide
Swaddled in white pipe
Marking the bank
Like the mass produced
Repeated mistakes, afterthoughts
Of a military graveyard.
On this pathway where the cold shiver
Some take the fresh tarmac
Some roam the river.
When I asked how she took her water
She told me
The whole river from the torrents
Of the mountain spring
To the wide, slow estuary.
After a while it became clear
The right were not right
And the left left
So that all that was left
Was a bunch of rights
And nobdody to take care of the lights.
Now of course you see
None of us can be quite certain
About Boris Johnson's curtains
A matter of some debate
The Prime Minister or State's Estate
And of course their hue
Is it Midnight, Prussian
Or do we simply call it
A deeper shade on Blue?
It's the state
Of the kitchens and the lounge you see
Not to mention comprehending the intention
Of whatever the last inmates
Left behind in the settee.
You see
Boris Johnson's curtains
Or not
Are they open or closed?
A pertinent inch
Like a garter exposed?
II. {Boris Johnson's Curtains}
Var value
Var connection
Var spin
Var attention
Var charm
III. Function : BorisJohnson'sCurtains
If open
Then
can we see the wallpaper?
I hope it is luxuriously embossed
For the cracks it covers over can be seen in actual fact
Seismic graphs and fractals showing scant regard for impact
As to what life lives within them, the cost can but be guessed.
If closed
Then
We can see Boris Johnson's curtains
Else
Is he just actin'? Waiting for an encore?
If open
Then
We can see the comings and govings
The hope a typo in .gove
Translates effectively into phonetic nodes
Rome wasn't built in a day
But whoever did it. ate (Pasta)
Buck a trend or two
Follow your passion for fashion.
If open
Then
Can we see all the way to the garden?
The chalk wall and water feature?
Can we see Johnson, heel on heel
Digging a little deeper?
The memory model, refined to perfection
Minds inspected like terrorist connections
Superior temporal sulcus mined
Who you know, what crimes they've done
We can scan and annotate all agents of corruption.
They will cling to the mast in the tempest.
Abuse of power and secrecy their only defence
Their pretence, that Lincoln was an idiot
That we will all succumb, forget
And wander dumb over the precipice at sunset.
Dear John,
Well it's not me, it's the data
I ate a chocolate cookie
Now they book and look at me
I don't take biscuits and am an excellent debater.
Dear John,
You undoubtedly have a job on
As to Comms, a suggestion at no personal cost
Throw the towel in, admit you lost
#WhereHasAllTheMoneyGone
Dear John,
Hammer on, hammer off
I guess they had Ron at Hello
It was a lovely hatfull
I wave the recipient the best of odds.
Yours most faithfully
Signing off.
Well they were charming
Those new phrases bought in
Scrammble the Scrabble
Throw a ball at the pins
But since that strange yoghurt
The charade's worn rather thin
It's obvious the polarisation
Is not charm but spin.
We needed the storage units
And the container mountains that float
With the regs to comply
And to track them remote
So after Candida, Wolbachia, Radiodurrans, et al
We found we could make chips
Really cheap afterall
You see the ships, when they dip
Their hulls in the Med
Turn off their TACOS
So one idea instead
Would be to chain all the data
Like they do to you and I
And write it all on the wall
In the genes of a fly.
There are apple staves staked in dank pots
In December, those darkest of days
I heard something like,this will not be forgot
When in the grip of chill I returned dismayed
My thought was all the staves would rot
Yet dank pots with no gaps like bog
Were nourishing, this spring sprung
Green spear from seemed dead wood, the red bud
The mixed earth, sand, clay rock,soil
Bramley, Fibonacci, Lemarck, smile.
Special forces, strong, weak, nuclear
It's all Greek, that's clear
The anatomy of me, Alpha, Lambda
This community society, planetary
Is charged uncertain with a simple sum
0 or -1
Its a super position, possibly both
Pile together a whole host simultaneous
The only omission, fission, delirium
From deuterium, indeterminism
And now they do the Algebra
Negative plus syntax, plus person
This comes in bursts, digital human
And where are we at this dawn
Compression of virions to cytoplasm
Cytokine surges and blood rushing
It's nothing. It's in the air these days
I don't know how much longer polarised
Magnetics will effect it's ethics and bets
But I take it like cycles. To be is its epithet
Now self critical reactions
Heat cytoplasm, that's how it happens
Its a hard road out, so breathe deep
Vicious bastard needs work rest and sleep.
At dusk I heard the Owl
In the Oak forest
Spring garlic and acorns
Most will not gow
Solely for the fact the grass is mown.
I will dig them like truffles
Carry them home. Again
Took flowering Plum stems
A deep inhalation like steam
Planted where the canal overflows to a stream
That fresh negative charge.
Ionic
In revivifying perturbations I recall
I once sat with a dispossessed Princess
Who would not eat Plum sauce pancakes
But would stop to breathe waterfalls.
Building castles is expensive
Has bankrupted many Kingdoms across the passing eons
The concentric rings and Arsenals of Antioch and Tyre
Now in this century of simulation our dreams are rising higher.
The castles in the sky
Bricks of cumuli, a bed of cirrus,
Columns of towering stratus
What foundation is this?
What cost in shaping, holding wet air here?
The price of castles in the clouds?
Each nation building in its fear
That silence between us oh so loud
From budget surplus swiftly to two trillion in arrears.
For all the mud that crowds our feet
One thing seems perspicacious, clear
The cost of castles that will make us proud
Its clearly much too dear.
If
I had learned routines
Then
Perhaps, probably even
Probably odd
But if
I learned routines
Push (), pop ()
Then habit becomes low energy
My thoughts might wander
To pastures and artifice unknown
Else if
I learned Zen
Then
Each habit would be, probably
The next action's friend.
I have not learned routines
My day snakes through divergent tasks
Demanding of attention
If the glass is half full, fill it
As Zen demands
The full awareness of all processes
The scene within, without
These habits, monastic
Where did this coil first awaken
The mind to the idea of ethic and observance
These are lost conjectures in an evidential morass
I pin the tail some years before the last ice age
In Madras.
"I have not suffered in accurate iambics"
These modern forms, are dub, Libet's delay
Second guessing my pen and what aid
Is provided from without while I am mined within
What mind is this, not twin, but octuplets
Unduplicated with which I am related
All the voices have been taken for I have not
Recalibrated the auditory connectome within my cranium
And at this moment both Ukraine and Uranium
Are aimed to urge my natural search function
The only conclusion I can infer is that we have seen
The routines of colour revolution updated in Octamarine.
I have encoded a memory
In complex fantasy, the thoughts of thoughts
As patterns and structures
These cats cradles enabling
New proteins. the vivid pictures and dreams
The flourishing jungle has invasive species
With fireworks. Circles, angles and lines
Our minds like Kandinsky and Constable, Cohen
All flourescesce in this evolving sequence
Of optogentic nets. What we have always
Is the old encoded complex and the fantasy
And what of Y
The clay, of our depositors and debts
What of the unseen dawn as yet
What is it that we can know, and what forget
This our play to strutt and fret
What is the application of the memory of friends
Of voices and hashtag trends
I cannot pretend this magic within my comprehension
These simple words have several.
I daily write in n-dimensions.
I got 64 bits to bug you
At a BASIC level
It's electrical feedback
From ATP. Down to gut instinct. Allow me
An amyloid, filopodial figment or two
And I'll polarise your Calcium
To make your dreams come true.
Entrance to a virtual, personal firmament
Permament, formented in a basement
NBC in Tennesse
That's not heaven, that's a twisted history.
Repeatedly, I self assemble marbles
Like the British Museum do
Pass strips of randomly encrytped bits from Tuttankamen
Aspergillus advujants, just have no taste
I prefer the organic because it cuts down waste
I don't listen too much to this
I guess I just miss new tricks
Because now they bugging me in strings as long as 256.
I went down West, it was desert
Black bellied ravines of spartan stone
Washed clean like storm gullies after rain
A silence at the heart of this plague city
Regents street and Bond
A luminous donkey
A sleeping bag clutching scab fingered soul torn wandering man
And I, that was all
Cavendish, empty, Harley, Portland Place
In Berkley two young Arab girls went giggling
A teenage adventure on empty streets of Empires wealth.
This Tragic perestroika
The whole city was each of ours
My own carriage on the Tube
Two would be lovers could have had the steps of the National
But worried at the garden wall on situations
Two chicken grease fingered teenagers
Had all Trafalgars fountains in isolation
And everywhere on empty thoroughfares
Was the air of mourning.
They steal blocks now
Kidnap your sense of place
In silence and distraction
And where they are felling the old Planes
Our lungs, at Euston, a man said
"I'm just doing my job, I don't know nothing" #Arendt
By the bodies of dead trees. Trees which
If you haven't already heard
May have computational NOD-factor like proteins
In symbiosis at their roots, and by the bodies I replied
"That didn't wash at Nuremberg".
This phone call may be recorded
For training and quality purposes
Then again, it might not
It might be recorded and archived
In an airless basement
Where barely a spider survives
Because quality is a relative adjective
Not a standard around here
And this phone call may be
Abandoned.
Everything of any value will be stolen
The Crown Jewels, the rail, the lights
The water pipes
And they tried to steal
The most valuable of all
Love
But when they plucked it, it perished
Broke and what they had was not love
But machine learned sex scenes and porn
What they had was not intimacy
But a domineering tomography
Like orchids
Some places, spaces are unique
Untransplantable
And now the cherries are flowering
Out of season
So I grow cuttings under lights
To save the roots for grafting
And all the stolen goods sit unfenced
I wonder the law has not gone asking.
Because God
Is omnipotent, all knowing, ever wise
The bare truth is undisguisable
Indistinguishable, unextinguishable
For fires require energy and air
But water uses nothing
And stores energy just sitting there.
Because God
Is omnipotent I have been given knowledge
Of RNA, t, m, si
And I ask do they say, do they reply
The papers of 62, infinite abacus
Ferrous semi-conductors, bacterial structures
Cytoskeletons I have learnt this since spring
Since the trap sprung
When the song stopped and became chattering.
And now a para-state attacks
Turing compliant intelligence
Eschews all facts
But this is p-systems membranes
We have surpassed old games
Masters. Chess, Go
With cell division, multiplication
But what we don't know, said God
The abstractions of mathematics
Non-linear Heraclitean patterns
Has hurt you.
And I asked God, what would you say to this
And god said, that is a good question
Turing compliant atheists failing their own tests.
