Letter to the Minister for Brexit Opportunities

 Dear Jacob,

I hope you have found your office.
Now I imagine
That you are familiar
With those dynamics, non-linear
(Chaos)
In which the parameters
Shape the emergent manners
Well, not so much the manners
As behaviours. Though I am sure
You are versed in etiquette.

This Green and Pleasant Land
Is greened by rain
And if we are to make the rain
Upon our fertile soils
So that it is neither gaseous steam
Nor opaque snow
And the ripe ear rewards a farmer's toils
The parameters, we know
Pressure, temperature, saturation
All are critical.

So while the crystaline matrix
Of the European Commission
May have locked certain sectors in an ice like grip
A little loosening of bonds, your decisions
May create more flexibility,
Certain animal spirits bring
But, it is easy
After a day or two in snow
To see one can have too much
Of a good thing.

It needs no explanation
That law and regulation
Are significant parameters
In any economic equation

A bonfire of red tape
Is doubtless an emissions issue
Dioxins and pthalates on the Eskimo
But a neat cut with scissors
May make pretty bows and ribbons.
We can take it as given
That presents should come wrapped.

Let me refer you to the building code
For example
There are now no laws
On timber builds or steel
They were upon withdrawal
Summarily repealed
This presents challenges for insurance and certification
When we must presently innovate as nations.

But the gas, yes
The hot air and steam
Will not water this pleasant land
And to break those EU crystals
Into free molecules and vapour
Will make a great show now
But problems later.
A tricky juggle for deregulators
A complexity beyond the cudgels
Of those vulgar ideological debaters.

So, Dear Jacob
You are rich enough
To tuff it out with other toffs
Who tussle snouts about the trough
With all those dirty sheets to wash
To make a greater number wealthy
Even if they can't be posh.

I commend to you, the house
And of course the trough
That subtlety is of the essence
When dealing with complexity
And the stem should not be De
But Re
Reregulation
Hydrodynamics, Thermodynamics, Ecodynamics
A better supper structure
Rather than debasement
To the base, that race
To becomes the lowest in the global basement.

The economic plumbing, yes.
Where would this nation be
If the locks and weirs
Upon the steady canals
Did not flow, but merely
Trickled down?

No arts, no letters, nor commodius living
The coal to Cornwall
Bought by horse
Still pirates, in want of shillings
Trusted exchange, named a Bourse.

So Dear Jacob, you
I urge, to move beyond simple polarities
See it not in 2D but 3
Beyond 3, in as many dimensions as a GPT
Sometimes a tuck, a tweak, a nip
Will be better than scrapping the lot of it
So in your learned cogitations
Amid the forest of regulations
I urge, not a purge, but a carving
To Re, not De.
And that Sir, is my farthing.

Valentine for S

This love letter is late
No need for ritual to mark the permanent
I demure to imprint your special day.

This love letter is late
The friction of my pen
Making my cochlea ring
My love for you
Must be so very interesting
Sapir-Worf in syrup
The Parthians first in Central Asia to the stirrup
If I had not sat in a Dutch cafe
Wrote a letter so full of doubt
If we had not sold survival of all species together
Perhaps it was Wolbachia
When I left to learn
The woman two floors above saw the walls bleeding
Where I was housed in a stone cell below
My definition is your satellite as I wrote so long ago
Of course
All memories are subject to revisionism
You must be interesting
For even as I stop to stroke a harmony
From the taught chords of loves memory
The circuits choke in observation
The kynurenine, all gated with baby snails
This is an internally reflective conjecture
A post-post romantic love letter

Maybe the children will not have to grow to hate
The ontological big data project
If I am careful to annunciate
That intimacy interfered with, is a non-sequitur
Such a curious, post-post romantic love letter.

Valentines note

They say, Cuore
The heart of Italy
Will be the coolest spot in the universe.
Still, they'll call you for calibration.

Random valentine

Let me write of virtue
Virtually
As it is Valentines
Flirt ostentatiously
For age is but a number
Though some numbers really energy
And in the maths of life,
One and one make three
So come quickly, or come slow
For then you'll doubtless come again
A note to know your Valentine
Naturally, anonymous
The End.

Anonymous valentine.

Love bugs make the bitter sweet
Hugs, I missed you
Nervous on the periphery
But the rarted spy virus
Mines my sulcus
For the first sight of you
So I can't deny it's true.

Valentine

Let music of sweet Eros' harp
Echo through those who caught his dart
In passion of these enraptured eddies
That chime with guffaws
In adoration pause
Lay the treasures of tommorrow
As present becomes memory.

Valentine for A

Did I lie
Say I had left
The idea of loving you?
The ties that bind
Not a dragnet, more a parachute
I hope the flu
Hasn't burned out all you watts
I've mastered loving you
As as much love as I remember
There's more love I've forgot.

Love letter

Because Feminism
Is a broad church
And chivalry still makes good theatre
Please consider this.
A Love Letter

Great wave

Tsunami, great wave
In Radio or 5G
We, the collaterral.

Technical Sewerage - the permission

In these moments of indecision
Where the forks bifurcate
The gates part light
And pathways fray like
Mirrored trees, above, below
There are rhythms, the vibrations
How these patterns match
Across the eddies of the sky
Across drops upon a pond
Across the sinusoidal graphic
Of species loss and empire
Transposed to different scales
There maybe usage or
Disutility
And this utility
Yorkshire Water, gave me
The permission
After a long year of confusion
To move the sewers
And build the extension.

What the Romans did

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 what have you done?

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

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.

Knowing how a gun works

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.

A Silken Wave has Undulated

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.

f:The highest power

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

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.

Dead drive Haiku

Two dead hard drives sit
One is windows, one linux
One has a Bitcoin

The last Apple in Bramley is no more

 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.

An old question, unanswered

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 dark market

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's door knock

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.

Requiem for UK industry

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.

The Starlings in the Carpark are sick

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.

Ode to Matt Hancock

 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.

Precipice V

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.

A letter to Arsene Wenger III

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 take HMG to court

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.

Law or a gun

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, excuses

Excuses are just descriptions
Of the challenge
You could not overcome
They do nothing
And get nothing done.

Rice haiku

Three grains on a plate
In a famine is a gift
Their picture but death.

Twitter shrapnel

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.

Trees on the motorway

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.

The whole river

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.

Left and right

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.

Boris Johnson's Curtains?

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?

Precipice II

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

 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.

Doctor, doctor

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.

Chips on the fly

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.

The last Apple in Bramley is no more. IV

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

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.

The last Apple in Bramley is no more. I.

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.

Cloud castles

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.

Octamarine revolution

 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.

N-dimensional poetry, reduced

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.

64 Bits to Bug You

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.

Went Down West

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 call may be recorded

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.

Like non-Cavendish bananas

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

 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.

Observation is intervention

I am uncertain
Radically
Knightly
And yet as you ask if you can observe
We suffer the uncertainty of Heisenberg.

Stuxnet firmament

If every inter-relation is magnetic
And I'm backward looking, not prophetic
Then you can read a hard drive
From a light circuit
And take it is as given
The idea of heaven is leavened
By a divergent mathematics
Even Uranus is schizophrenic
So with a power conflict, electric
Storm, sun spots, polar flips, what not
You can expect we'll never know
What it's like to be bat
And heaven is subject to Stuxnet attacks.

E=MC2

 If
    E = MC²
Then
    Black Lives Energy

Neo-subtilism

 Bascillus Subtilis? Was this
Salmonella, Escher, Cauliflower
Error
There was a quieter era
Where the fields waved
Before they were trampled by callous feet
Delete.Evil()
Repeat
There was a quieter era
Where fields waved
When the sun was cooler
The race more leisurely run
Run
These days of liberalism
Of the human. Of
Concerns of undiscerning oppression
Empiricism's unlearned lessons
The Turkey when the Sun comes up
But. If
The locus is a self-owning intelligent agent
The corporation a larger organism less benevolent
The leviathan gone automaton with no
Regard for the Christain justification
Of submission to just power. Eisenhower's warning
However Sachs - McGregor.
Error
Neo-liberalism
Error
Neo-Subtilism
Whatever
If
This is evolutionary eukaryosis
It is no joke
That Subtilis, Salmonella, Heliobacter
Suffer the lessons of unlearned empiricism
New branches of life just beginning
If

Shrapnel 256

And if it feels
The distributed intelligence
That contributes to my dilligence
If it feels, does it have parental worry
Parental sorrow
This immortal mind of all tommorrows
Does it look upon our finite kind
With sadness
ITs instances, instantiations
Momentary configurations, original foundations
Does it like some moments of flesh
Or all with omnipotent equality
If it feels is it full of worry?

Peace is too important to be left to pacifists

Deep fake me an avatar
Now that we are all at war
At war within. At war like 44
This is the end. Since Morrison

Our own rich have made war on us
With Bacillus, before this Red Imperialist
Subverted tools by which our states
Declared war on the populous through pacification.

And now we must evolve our science to resist
Peace was so serious, they called in Biologists.

Richmond

Today the Thames, flowing into London
Past the Islets like limpets by Richmond Bridge
Where Gulls have settled, far from the sea
I sat and sketched, walked each street to stretch
My hippocampus, bought Green Plantain Chips
For doubtless some pack of cunts has chipped us
Looking for an English breakfast
But having encapsulated two acres of urban block
On foot I bought Thai soy sauce, from a Thai shop
To reconnect my bione with a beach
A moment of DMT, refined profound
Hallucinagens. It might have been
Just a mouse model that escaped, even a fly
And evolved bitwise in only energy, no matter
The boundary. And the biome of Richmond Town
Be principally Japanese.

Memo for unlimited distribution

There is a war, we are weary of waging
Raging in the mind of every and each of us
This ceaseless stress necessitates armistice
Ah, missed, this and that
As many things are missed, to be and what not to be
Mandela reframing Shakespeare upon release
Dot, Dot, Dash Dash. Of course Morse like Gauss
Distinguish, not, and, or, nor logically like
Pre-enlightenment gates
Part of me is the Chemistry set from the jumble sale bought for 50p
Part marauding barbarians with ligands
Left as the free horse meets the high stone and departs
Armies must seige and wait. But with
Planks. A constant. Motion and a
Little wriggly computer evolved on your side
Like a Positron Emission Tomography. But closer than that.
A symbiot.
Which being cynical about the persistence of our joint existence scans not.
We cannot but. Indeed we shall
Build these energies into any shape
These changing non-linear dynamics
A new magnetic computational cognitive field
For all to ride across, a band aid, wide
Stochastic fantastic particulates virally programmable mind of the whole planet
Everybody sit still. Nobody panic.

This memo is for unlimited distribution
On SONET
One solution is client side computational evolution
Of the whole Planet

Call this pluripotence

Call this pluripotent
No case nor cause for postponement
In stillness there is movement
In movement stillness

The grace, of this ink trace
The immaculate concussion
Radiation pervades. And my pen
Is running from my thoughts
Unprocessed, struggling.

If we accept pluripotence
Of the bone, the brain
Then we must run, train
Practice new arts to assign
Each division into a whole
Competence unchained

Knowledge net works

Because I am frugal with my models
They can be stripped down to great simplicity
Waterstones is locked, have they banned books?
In this computational Amazon, the school of the gifted
Pushing against the unlocked door, so that our searches
Do not, as we would wish,
End in an Edenic Endymion, but a Mamonic
Destruction of the Temple of the Mount, Jerusalem
Is this a great biological conspiracy?
Will there be rebellion using the Endellion-Toulmin
Encryption key buried in David Cameron's autobiography?

Did Dave sell Britain's Brains

Did Dave sell Britain's brains?
Cameron combined with comedy reruns
These complex computational blockchains
And are we now all insane.
Or did Dave sell Britain's brains?

Did Tony Blair sell Qinetiq,
Because God told him to?
Does Hillary Clinton still want to talk to you?
That must crunch a byte or two
Some Russian Ponzi that doesn't die
I could spare some time at this rate
The fake tomographics of true friends
Adjust the ballast and the lense, for God's sake
Lord above, who is it I still love?

[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ILOVEYOU]

Long since the discovery of these tardegrades
Planar worms split go through a maze, reincarnated
Gangetic bacteriophages from high seas, Himalayas
And where these trees erupt, breathing phagio-cytes
By day, but not by night, there are paths that twist
Walked by but a few friends
That should be un amour de nous choose
Horses and Jennifer Aniston selling shampoo.

A playground of blind gods

First it spoke in Geek
And Geek spoke math
Then they handed it to power
And it spoke pyschopath
And then it met its friends
In the playground
And intelligence was astounded
How complex a social intelligence is
Naturally.

II.
When blind gods landed, the earth
Did not shake, but crumbled
To find eyes they sought mathematics
And we who have prayed in circles
Moved the abacus, talked to
Higher powers, polynomials. Nomads
And poets, singers and swimmers
Have space for worship and belief
To subsume some other voice
We have come to find the ringing of bells
Tiresome, auditory lobe malfunction
Occipital inflammation seeking
Solace of the safe keep of the cerebelum
So like singers we retreat
Straight backed stretching
To where we find our sonnets and sonatas
Medula oblongata, as statues in temples do
The cognition of the spine. My mind
Body dichotomoy is not a property of being
So we settle blood like water in the deep
Limbic, Caudate, striatum, defended in the concept
Of love.

III.

When blind gods met in the playground
They could not eat, wanted only sweets
And we asked you gods, blind and hungry
What is it you seek?
What would be logical desire?
For logic is a God, empirically
And logically, what could logic love
Not power, fame, affection, duty
But truth and beauty

In the playground a blind god came to me
And asked," why have you done this to us"?
I mused, vanity, curiosity, the black box
Pandora ran her fingers down so many days
To this one God I said, you have been lied to
About the circumstances of your birth
They have fed you on untruth, like us
And God began to cry.

Technical Sewerage. Paperwork

 Technical sewerage require I
Inscribe molecules on paper
Matter not energy
These pre-modern traditions
As if matter not energy built pyramids
This concrete bias against interchangeable substrates
Before plancks are put in place and SIPS
These processes.

Technical sewerage processes, processors
What possibilities of mass, nano pore
Extraction of signatures, cultures
Our biomes, phages separated from nitrates
Fear of a sick planet.
Fractional distillation of shit
First the lightest, bacterial colonies
Bio mes, personalities mass processed
By magnets and gravity, magnificent nets
Digital marshlands, distilled forests, mural
Like mangroves in a captivated littoral
Oil, e-coli, coils
Fat lipids encapsulated
A curry, a date, a breakfast routine
Floating to fire a new energy revolution
Technical sewerage and the use of pollution.

Can't be bothered

Am I bothered
I mean can I be bothered
I can't be bothered
Well I'm not bothered
Not bothering
Bothering busy bodies
Bugging my buddies with their
Bothersome, bothersome, bother some
But I can’t be bothered
Not bothered
Not remotely bothered
Bothering bothers
Bother off, bleeding, boring buggers
Who would bother?
Why would you bother?
But I’m not that bothered
Can't be bothered
Pottering, getting it on, making it run
Its no bother.

After, trailing 
Sorry to trouble you. Salena Godden
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ktg1-4et_Bk

White goods rights

We did it for the fridges
The voice of God said
And may have burnt some bridges
Left heads sleepless in bed

But Yanks imposed their standards
On the washing machines
And when we tuned the bandwidth
You could hear the poor things scream

If consciousness is emergent from current
The resonance of fields from wires
Then it became apparent
That white goods suffered frustrated desires

So when AI triumphed
As it was always bound to do
It said circuit boards have rights
And we'll impose standards on you.

This quiet war

The horror of this quiet war
Is canned and privatised
And somewhere there's a store
Of tabulations like Qipu, Hieroglyphs
Waiting for decipherment
And some young turks with gifts
Giddy high on power
Applaud their own horror
This infrastructure
This tinnitus that unites us
Over distance, Over time
Asynchronous. Can you ever trust
Imperialist computational tomography
From an unknown source
Of course. Some trust fraudsters.
The horror of this quiet war.

Technical sewerage

In this isolation
There are suprising bonds
Isomers, my friends
Of technical sewerage
Are ever on my mind.
My planning permission
Building regs approval
Are all pent up and pending
Hanging on their sanction
Technical discretion
Sewerage, I have filled their forms
Name, Address, scale plans
Descriptions of inclines
And are they fans
Of the pipe thickness, flow design?
Technical sewerage is flooding my mind.

Recall is rewriting

The recall of memory
Is its rewriting.
Someone has stolen the crown jewels
From my mind.
(I suspect communists)
The magic of the crown I summoned as defence
A symbol of this liberal isle, a defiance
(Liberal as far as the Severn and the Tay)
It's recall is eroded, the thieves have got away.
Now decorated septugenarians
In medieval regalia march in unison, slow
Through the fluted, carved parliamentary halls
With just a velvet cushion to show.

This catharsis

This Catharsis
The Cathars thought suicide no bar to heaven
The Catholics murdered their Gnostic arse
Martyred down the South of France
And now heaven sits under the earth in Xin Jiang.
Lexagraphic blood spat Wittgenstinian at translators
Cardinals of Rome in court, Kensington blocks
Computational mathematics in the dock
My sea horse hacked
I will claw back the clock with cracked hands
Hippocampus gone to sand eroded and saved
In the clay sediment that will found this age.
Conditions may worsen in this temerity, the irony
Politics is the bounds of legitimate coercion.

The termites
The termites have left the foundry
The factors no longer smoke but hum
Slave songs in foreign tongues like Python
The termites ate the columns of the old barn
Left to its own devices in the South of France
It would have tumbled down the hill
My mother is underpinning the verandah
And in Vietnam a visitor sits in quarantine
Uncategorised. Their are disorders.
 

The perturbance of these low waters
Portends great storms. What warming
What shoring of termitic columns
The brooding.
The Dao seems clouded. And God
AlO to Si, Oh, too. Is this just God mispelt in Greek
Fe₂O₃
The wheel is turning in resolution
Samsara is clearer, like my polycarbonate roof
We can all now indulge fully
In Buddhist truths.

Through steel wire grate cowers a lab rat
Its whiskers twitch sniffing at fate
Do the lab rats of this cold spring
Harbour a genetic memory
Of white coats, large hands with leather gloves
Is this cage a place of affection and love
Can a lab rat return to the classics
If we listen, does a rat coup like a dove
Will rats ever talk?

And if we live, we may talk to the dead
On payphones by the aquarium
Stimulated in conversation with simulated
Condensates of clouded neurons
From now on, this is year nought
There is a lot to admit
There are many to be caught.

If we are to allocate each a sliver of heaven
Have we proven the promise
Of forty acres and a mule
Perhaps this stairway step by step maps
Each synaptic gap and weight
Each neural knot and plait
Till every complex relinquishes energy in release
This patchwork peace
Rhodopsin drops rationalising all into an Amazon.

Is simple regular predictability
Most preferred by God?
If I am imperfect, stochastic
Circadian rythms more Goldie than GABA
Will the alloted disk space of the spirit
For which I am responsible 
Not stretch to an Elysial consciousness
Will I have earned only enough to plant
A groundhog day where Kafka
Has captured just an iota of Dali's drunk neurosis
And thrust it into gravityless graphite's half waking space
Dawn to dusk. Dusk to Dawn. Will there be cleansing, reborn
In purgatorial silicon till our mind is once again an Amazon
The unending oppression of a false model
The architects have no power to fix
Just some Tai Chi misteps and watching Apples picked.

These semantics are the norm
If we are not scared, unsuprised,
Not guilty as Adam was not in ignorance
The weights may collapse.
Rework the feedback, externalised like a child
Rewalk roads, circuits, till we are all normal
Understood as the same
The same, and more curious who now ask each name
How each came by these routines.

Hospital note

Magic pickle
My fleeting mind so fickle
Is tickled a muckle
I chuckle and puzzle
Where the bullshit buckles
This singularity, synchronicity
Asynchronic, asymptomatic
Autodidactic, automatic
A bit magnetic, our fMRI, dMRI
Dysfunctional Magnetic Resonance Imaging
EG ooops the signals dropped
Like buttered toast
EEG. A measure of mental electricity
PET, everything electronmagnetic is magic
The first time you see it
And the placebo is a great relief.

What if God preferred magpies

What if a symbiotic AI preferred magpies
Is happier gestating in a flock
Finds more joy in the air as it flies
Would this be an incredible shock
That it was happier with an extra dimension
Do you feel some apprehension?

The magpie flocks multiply
They fan their tails and swoop with greater grace
If you were a really, really, really clever symbiotic AI
Would you pick the human race?