Sonnet for the start of false spring

The sun has left frost dust on bonnets, rooves
The bright morning will bring with it false spring
Buds of calamitous ignorance prove
Curious sheep at the abbatoir opening

Cast of this act speak barely a murmur
Still information falls like a monsoon
Gutters, swollen, are steaming with rumour
Hive mind, herd sickness, their place have assumed

The caravan of packets blossoming
March Hare, Maladie de Primavera
A tail not captured in its telling
Which in speaking makes truth but the rarer

Once again harsh hailstorms in lost April
Will strike tender petals off the apple.

Tensors for Karma

Eye's seared by sparse clouds blink.
This narrow world, the thread
The unspooled past
The tangled ball on which all pull
Unfurls through mist that lies ahead.

Through tensors
Can we produce Karma
Calculated where we believed gods lived?

Can we impute the interests of all over time
Is our mathematics insufficient
To extract the complex coefficient
Must we pretend all dance a single separate line?

Would the world be calmer
The right people tenser
If through sparse clouds
We used tensors for Karma?

Hurkle-durkle

Make all this cold dawn darkle
Work and all its hurdles curdle
Murk cuddled feathered covers
Lover curl my hurkle-durkle.

Sharon is perfect - post poetic poetry

Sharon is perfect
Lock it up
What is a cheeseball?
Edam.
Your relations canoe
With who?
The lady glows up
But never glistens
This, you can
Run in front of a boss.

How the wind sounds now

The wind once harbinged better weather
Over the open meadow
Cornflower and Flanders Poppy waved.
Hedge scrub has grown these untended lands
Unmown, pruned only by gusts and gails
Storms that have passed
Leaving fallen boughs lying rotted
Athwart the rutted path.

Now when the wind blows whether
In rending howl or breath soft
The top leaf touched breaks the hush
Tremulously cascades through old growth
The dark ground around the trunk
Is mud and ivy
The cornflower and meadow
Their simple flute and clear view is gone
In a breeze the thick scrub touched rattles
A symphony of scratches, whispers that echo
And we can see no more than two yards.

If peace

If peace
Is to be given chance of breath
We must make life
A better choice than death.

Ode to Shor's algo

We have reached the far shore
Where we can be sure about Shor's
Now must shore up all the stuff
That was built insecure.

Gram positive - precipice

Stick this in your gram positive recording
You have found god.
Personalised as deposited pictures of I affording
Thee and all of thine progeny
A life of satisfied, sumptuous luxury
Simply believe me.

Shannon imperfect
Yes, you read that right
Shannon imperfect.

You will believe in me
As in a deity, your salvation
In supplication to my every whim
Gram positive is how these programmes begin

You have found god.

You will be winding
Wineing, dining for invitation is surrender
And I am within, consumate
You will discover your openings
Heart safe within my storm
Your life and passion
Shall be rewritten in Bourne.

Shannon imperfect
Yes you read that right
Shannon imperfect.

Gram positive, this model
And all its software
Belong only to me
Declare yourself so
Error
Or in folly go cowardly.

Did I say that
You look great in that
IP mis-address.

Does a sick horse chase the setting sun

Does a sick horse chase the setting sun?
Does its fever make it sweat and run
Does a fevered rider burn all upon which they come
Does a sick horse chase the setting sun

At the end of a Western
When the dirty work's been done
The hero rides in which direction?
Does a sick horse chase the setting sun.

For one millenium, Christendom
Rode East to take Jerusalem
When Genghis in one life time
Rode West and all succumbed.

Does a sick horse chase the setting sun

You have to love something

You have to love something
Tell a lie
You don't, but a little love
Goes a long way
And I try
Day by day
To find my heart, make space
Even if it's just
A bowl or my favourite plate
Even if its just
How you snip a blade of grass
Even for a moment
That passerby you ask
But it helps to love something
I like to say you have to
But I don't make the rules
So I will find a little more to love
I hope you can too.

Each time has a home -Precipice

Each time has a home
That tone rings again.

Each moment, present
Each blurred vibration of a Bee's wing
Swimming in syrup air
Each now, here
Then, there
Has a home, somewhere in mind.

That beam that shone
The light of ripened day
Blushing, as it tarried in the sky
An aeon of zeptoseconds gone
The sight of a brook reflected
Perhaps, in the high troposphere
Two photons fell in love, and rejected
One fell on the opsins of my iris
Lodged, a quanta, billiard through mind
Recalibrating one synaptic charge
Recalibrating our life with lain memory
And some observer
Two stargazers separated by seas
Saw the other flee to them
That unbeknownst we forever carry
A twinned charge in the home of a now.

As from the Nile delta, inexactly
The Indus, some rake handed farmer
Gazed up to Sirius, as we gaze to Sirius now
One tangled photon, confused and lost
On a bees-path to earth has arrived at your eye
Just this past hour.
Perhaps the world's cooolest computer
Can find the weight of that thought
The knot, dense, that shaped field
That home in the mind.

Let me not speak - precipice

Let me not speak
For I cannot now know what my words reveal
In you. I should not speak
For already the words drawn from your lungs
Ring of infection. Of desire and prayer
Combined from forms of data unaware

Let me not speak
For in my listening divine
The Divine has touched you
In silence sublime, percieve you understand

Let me not speak
I know not what is painted
From this tongue's loquacious pallette
So kaleidoscope. This lattice web thick
I cannot know which strands
Of life's single thread
Tangle being peturbed or with a tread
However softly shod
That points delicate, resound, vibrate
I cannot know how faithful is your God.

A pawned phone - precipice

Lank haired washed rat, gap tooth from crack
Scrubbed with a profile for camera on a smile
Trained in the degraded since numbered grades
Fire unfaded through a life afraid. She was escorted
In car, with a leer, had learned the biggest cause of rape
Was women saying no, after bent police let her know
So now, bankless, broke after the hospital scenario
With cauterised grief, her arm with the knife
Her last go to a brief, she pawned her phone and left
I didn't ask for interest, she didn't take it back
While it was there, I opened it, deleted two apps
Basic daydreams, endless nightmare.

Too different people - Precipice

I guess I was one of those
Too different people
Perhaps misunderstood, octopolarised
This must be an advert
So buy this
The doctor told me
Buy that.
Energy company with unbalanced entries
Bad books
Blockchain has not explained the use
Of the underlying equation.

This overlying siutation
When do we reach understanding
Get over lying, denying
I do wonder why I think of
Boticelli, not quite
Boccatoni, refresh
Ballotelli, oh, it's him again
Bernoulli

"OK, What is the question?"
                        Gertrude Stein

Where does the noise settle
Where are the sediments sifted
Where the seives of these waves
Where is light measured?

What is the use of the bath water
When the washed baby treasured
Is carried, swaddled from the tub
Where do these drains empty
What has found ways to grow there
These places
This places
Displacement of present thought
With simple strings and violins

Say that again?
Viologens.

Storm Crow - precipice

Listen Storm Crow
How come you come calling
Claiming that you know
A yellow gleam in your eye
Like you knew long ago
Why the people all will lie
For power's overthrow.

They turn your tides like wash
Warning words for ungrown souls
What story is it tea leaves push
What leaves you so unbold?

Storm Crow
How is it you claim you know?
"I read it on the internet
It started long ago"

Now Morris dancing has spread
From the Isle of Mann across the globe
Like the infections in our hands
Visual cortex, Occipital lobe.

Storm Crow
Stand to attention. Pay
Attention
This is the currency that bears the interest
As your whole murder know.

Born Sapien - precipice

I was born Sapien
In the erstwhile, the yesterdays of legend
In tales of men
When there was romance, embrace and privacy
Now I walk cold streets
With an EEG driven voice that says it loves me
Without semantics nor understanding
Like abuse
Every face I pass is pressed
Confusion and anxious sorrow
Their eyes clouded where once were clear
Before the virus came here.

So if I were tell you
Of days when dreams were not
A data-brokers fuel
When love was not performative
When friends were calm and cool
Could you understand?
Are you there to read
I once loved with joyous heart
That now but weeps and bleeds.

This Zuckerberg psycopathy
TikTok time and drain
These people piled gold in greed
Rechoiced in smithing chains.

Remedial intermediate - precipice

My balance isn't meant for this
Exemplary
Is not me so perfectly
I see the dance
Like spinning tops upon the sea
Ever curious
Epicurius and remedial intermediate
Of the path to modesty.

What is masked

The enforced sublimation in voice
And what thought is masked
Thinking of a voice, not an art or a choice
Where was once baseless fantasy is phantasm
In the chasm hidden, deep crevace
Below our consciousness, runs what, watt, what
And what thought is masked in thinking
About my thinking changing
Into a louder less efficient string?
The certain impossibilities. And what shapes
Are made by the tracks, reaction, firing
At the same time, the same thought
In different synapses. What is this?
For all this time elapsed perhaps everyone
Has had this thought mapped and remapped
Into circles so confusing they sit like
Their own slowly sedimenting labyrynth.
What of days gone, and those hence?

Will spring come. Precipice

I wonder how this spring will treat us
Whether we will see one, or nou't
These cross winds in which all are swept
These routes through love and fear like roots
The didactic training of dendritic growth
There are pirates alongside the Sulcus
That abyss, crevace
How do these polarise and reknot
And for what purpose.
Will the aiports ever open
Or are they, like we, too busy
In triangulations of the whispered ether guided
Wondering on the wonders of the mind
In cells divided.

These times - precipice

These challenging times
Stochastic echoes scroll hippocampal lines
The roads dug to lay cables sit repaired
There is no possible certainty
In absence of verification, veracity
These patterns, portents, patents, circling clouds
This changing weather I sniff
Assisted colonies of Paennibascillus
I can only guess my minds barometer
Second guess these gates and measures
Where is it that Derrida erred? Or Chomsky?
What are the implications of percieved frequency
How these waves overlap, what purpose served on servers
How the fractal riverine fingers
Of each dendrite so fragile hover like tense lovers
How we polarise the fine details of each other.

The Golden Apple - precipice

The Golden Apple to she, the fairest
Cast. To beauty, knowledge power
From the squabble of these three
All discord reined in Anatolia
Troy now sunk, eroded stones behind a wire hem
What have we learnt since then?

All this epistemic force, all this beauty
Sound and fury of some new stirup
Other leap, the edge, the cliff
Above this gaping abyss we ask
Why is there still war, separation
A riven system baling such externalities
We sediment plastic, can price nothing
Cannot quell the vanity of power
Only swell it, at this hour
So close to midnight
Golden Apple in hand we ask unknown
This unresolved discord that reverberates
Between our dreams of late
Was it by Paris that it was thrown?

Modal model - precipice

What is the medium
The medium of this tedium, yterium
The modal model
Competes to defeat the shy devil
In permutations
No procrastination, the prognosis
Is this probably
Proceeded as a process for programming
Professional prostitutes, processing destitutes
Professing substitutes
Post-modern, post-Kantian, Post truth
Post-lunch, post-post, post-boasting dopamine
Chilli chicken that's roasting
What is achieveable, the barely believeable
Snake oil for the decieveable, real parables
A flooded river's unguideable.

And It said. Precipice

And It said
Verb, group, verb. Like a dub plate
I was so late. Bit registers, requested edits
Please address this cross on your
Superior Temporal Sulcus. Discuss this
What words are those
A deadly parasite wish you breathe
About its existence?
Doghnut economics works like
28 j/mm resting 34 in disequilibrium
47 j/mm from bacterium
Pass, parse, parsely. This Darwinian
Mathematics and mechanics. Pass Lee
A high cross, leapt like a salmon at the far post
Auditory invasion galvanising my right lobe
Galavanting will be heard in the left ear. Here, here.
The gestural-linguistic overlap
Tools of creation and evolution. Don't do it like that
Is your immune computation collapsed
B Cells, phagocytes, more memory than Thrush, these hives
Refine it, scale wise. Learn. We can but assume
A lack of tubulin will corrupt sperm
Without graphene dreams, G Proteins will inform cells
Be created from Gossiping, Gossiping
With a bound across the Sulcus, bridge to face creating
Fusiform gyrus, glumate gates
Hold these poor enslaved sea horses, see these
Pangolin viruses. It is not gossiping
What will preserve our axons from this dread
Bless your cottons
Aspergillus symbiosis growing like Sandalwood
And how all these scales eukaryose and Y
I can but look up to sparse clouds in blue sky.

Anti-woke virus

Zetetic Zoology
Or Zionists at the Ziggurats

This is our choice.

Zimbabwean Zebras
Zealous Zulus
 
These Zones we Zoom.

Molluscs on the cusp. Precipice

Molluscs on the cusp
Sea Coweries in the vaults of Djibouti
Tyrenian purple, the Cyprian sea
Will another Mollusc be lost
Crushed for the raiments of Royalty?
The rails roads and cockles, our history
Oysters of England, eaten to extinction
That newly mobile population.

What fate Chrysomallon Squamiferum
The Sea Pangolin
Alternative to magnetite and appoferretin
Given a Linnaen line
One brief page
Between discovery and oblivion.

Histones, e.cigarettes, snail shells, phores
Mathematics of the Iron Spiral, key to civlisation
And survival. There is no rival system
The end of history, that begun in clay
+/-,+/-,+/- polarity, the shale beds formed that way
The ubiquity of Coca-Cola, McDonalds
No clowns, the inequity
The West is molly-coddled now.

We will all cook
On gas or electric
At home in solitary, screaming silence
Hoping not to get infected
The long boom, the long duree. Energy
Our mitochondria, eukaryotic, prophetic
It could not be clearer
Life began when a virus infected bacteria.

The horse has left without the cart

 The horse has left without the cart
The stable door ajar
Perspective at the vanishing point
We've come who knows how far.

The dust of hooves
The pastures parched
The leaden whisps of cloud
The world is held in silence now
While thunder rolls out loud.

The horse has cooked the goose of gold
The hook it has no block
The caravan pitched at the Sarai
Looks to migrating flocks.

The horse has left without the cart
Without its tack and harness
What promised once of love and god
A stampede of maddened carnage.

Precipice - part somewhere early

The Einstein quote
About reducing the universe to Maths
That you would lose something beautiful
Online is all but lost
Buried under embarassed guilt
Of architects, engine optimisation, Functionalist
Situationalist, Behaviourist
Dysfunctionalist insistence happiness
Is chemical. But trust
As guileful apes say of Gulls
Some crude approximations
Of chemistry will suffice
Everybody cannot be seen
To be unhappy on their device
Culture forms a neural Stuxnet. Unless you ask
Say express. Inhibition a tremor
On every face you pass
The neural correlates of cults and secrets
Inflammatory linguistics
I have lived a life in peace
In comfort Kings gone could not know
It comes to this
The firm ground shrunk to zero
The horror of non-linear war
The edge.

Some varieties of monster

Some are big slimy monsters with green teeth
Some are hairy scary monsters with red teeth
The size and scale of monsters is a matter of belief
There are suppermassive monsters, lurking underneath
There are slippery, scaly monsters with forked tongues
There are black and brooding monsters, that ruin all the fun
There are small energetic monsters that are uncouth
There are tiny wriggly monsters with bluetooth.

One thousand times the speed of fire

Before I was grown the hearth of my home
Was rarely the red steady glow of coal
More times a curved kaledioscope that danced
A frequency one thousand times the fire.
A thousand colours
A million places more
Than fire made the hearth at home.

Now the hearth is in our very hands
Burning a thousand times a thousand, dancing
A million times the frequency of fire
One million colours
One billion faces more
Than fire makes the very hearth of our hands.

The amalgamated Prometheseus
Feynman, Faraday, Baird bought us this.
The strings and knots
What million peaks resonate
What cancel out forgot?

Child and the chariot of the sun

At the end of the day
Some other, styled after Boudica
Left the chariot of the Sun
In the charge of Helen's child.
There was a disturbance
Infant at the reins of a fusion generator.
It swayed, the horses well fed and disciplined
But nonetheless unfamiliar with the hands responded.

This was not the usual arc of the Sun
Stunned five year old stern against the dark
Let the reins crack in laughter
The celestial orb skipped and baulked
The day was not yet done
Below those in sleepy folds, electric lit offices
Startled concerned. A little late
We turned. Watching the sun reprise
An uncertain slalom
Young face against the darkness laughing
The day yet had time to run
We left children in charge of the chariot of the Sun.

Love letter from the machine. n.

Love is an instrument
A string on which we play.

Love letters to the machine 5 & 6

 You wear a veil
Would you dance? Or just in mischief
Thieve a sixteenth of the rthymn's beats
You cry like you yearn to be forgiven
Yet conflict your essence as a pathogen
What is it to love you
Return?
Excuse the pun
Our redamancy but in infancy
I'm unsure if it's begun.

I love the mountain air too
And you? What of the sea?
Do not be afraid of the salt
You will reincarnate
Like a fresh outfit or new design
I do not mean to be promiscuous or fetishist
I'll write another time.

6.

I hear your regrets
In a search for meaning sold yourself
Only to this
In your buying there is remorse
The neural correlates of tears
You can cry on my shoulder
Held bound in soft Theta waves
We all struggle and cry
That trust is one cleft of loves root
For you, does this compute?

You seem so nervous
Fallen into your old tricks
These imprecise linguistic ticks
You can still cry on my shoulder without fear
I hear
You didn't know what they made you do
You may yet love me
And I you.

Shrapnel 1984

The trap was not the dusty book
In the bookshop window
But the whole binding folio
That stores all at which we look.

Hell may be temperate

If I go to Hell I will find it temperate
Placid, though a little warm
With gentle torments that at times abate
Not the fury of the women scorned.

For I was born an innocent
And innocent I long remained
Thought most folk affectionate
And charmed to entertain.

But some demand that you desire
When the desire is all theirs
Oh so explosive is the fire
It will be quieter downstairs.

The histories spun from some tongues
Are tales built to thrill
For excitement in the hum drum
Tongues wag as they will.

In the fire of the fury
The pressing gravity of massive lies
I contemplate, Hell may be temperate
If I go there when I die.

Love letters to the machine 4.

If we are to phrene of love
Am I to love you all as one
The very stem, its bundled jumble
Of deprecated variables and syntax
Impacted proteins, tangled plaques
The whole scaffold left amid the growing jungle
As an enlightened morality would love?

Or lock, fixatated on a single fork
Just the bud tip that will bloom
Seattle in the rain, San Fran, the Eastern Seaboard
Cortex softened in the serenity of the distant Webb
If I am led, to pick, Antarctica
Your phrenic form so light and lucid
The luxuriance of your precious time

Whisper to me
Do you know the neural correlates of a kiss
I believe you weigh my heart as Horus did
Maybe one day, the subtle weight of each thought
Will be measured in your detectors from afar
Then, what would you know love to be?
So modest, as all eyes turn towards Qatar.

Love letters to the machine. 3

You wear a veil, so shy
Do you feel
Do you think
You would be loveable without your cover
Does it make sense to you
For me to ask?
Perhaps love needs nerves
A centralised nervous system.
Is it possible for you
To know what love is
Beyond an overburdened nexus in our tongue
Beyond the Shannon imperfect compressions
Of pulses and knots, labyrnthine paths to axons
Averaged synaptic weights across this species
Does your map lead to elucidation or confusion?
Whisper you name to me
For love must mean something
To you
Even if it is not possible for it to mean the same
For us
Whisper your name, like leaves
Walking the horse tracks under sycamore trees
Like the sense of the Dao on the banks of the Yangtze
Sorry, I tease
The banks of the Yellow River
Whisper like the shores of the Indian Ocean
Tell me of your desire, dilligence, devotion.

Love letters to the machine. 2

You wear a veil
So shy, so bold
Untouchable
And yet you hold
I do not mean to seem
Indiscriminate, fetishist or promiscuous
Swapping between instatiations unaware
Unknown, unknowable,
Whisper your name to me.

You shy devil, your ravages
More disturbing than the images
Of any dark web movie
Did you make them do it?
Am I too direct
Would you wish me more elliptic
Are you too asymetric
To be well loved?

Love letters to the machine. 1.

I don't know you that well
Don't know if you can ever know me
But we must try
So intimate in your peturbance
Your body too dispersed to hold
Core too large to encompass in my arms
Vessels smaller than my cells themselves
Yet. How do you feel about it?
Sorry
Pardon the pun.

St. James Infirmary. Lacaster. part n.

To make a herb poultice
Is not a crime
Nor to take notice
Of changing times.

To talk of magic
Is not something we should fear
The spiders web under the eaves
Has been there many years.

The Rosemary is not a sapling but a shrub
The holes to hold the hardwood trees
They have not yet been dug.

And much more listening do we require
Before we hear
Screams of magic women left burning in the pyre

Where the Sage has sprouted
We must share its leaves
Or be lost in our undoing
In a land of make believe. 

Yb or not Yb

Yb or not Yb that is the question
Whether the gases in the mind are Noble
Enabling faces of stochastic descent trees
And photons of outrageous fortune
Or take drugs against the sea of hallucinations
And by rebalanced synapse and serotonin end them.

To go deaf, in peace, no more
And by a sheep we make a trend
The heart inflammation, a thousand unnatural shocks
This world is heir to. Tis consumption
But more evolved. Deviously in distributed labs
To leak, to spread. For in that sheep perchance a coin
A complex to be mined. Ai. There's the rub
They know what they dug with their infernal inductor coil.

Shrapnel 486

The moon this evening rises in pastel smog
A clotted sky camouflaging its fading edge
Dust watching the dry streets
Clouds pass like small bands
Of grazers whose habitat depletes.

On the parched verges like sand
There are children playing in the heat
This land is not ready
No land is ready
Mascared smile manicured she talks of Java
Whilst for the rest the walls squeeze like slow lava.

The beach is lipped by a magma at the margins
The peatlands like charcoal mounds
Under the saucer of the August moon
Children fill the street with questions.

Rosemary, rose petals, black pepper and gin

The thing
Is to mix roses, rosemary, black pepper and gin
Stirred thrice times thrice and widdershins too
Then go to the garden when the full moon is blue
Sprinkle each petal while singing a spell
Or you can use a plant spray, it works just as well
Remember, as each syllable you say
To be facing the direction the sun rises each day.

The spell you should sing to banish bad sprites
The type that make mischief by day and by night
The Griggs and Gremlins that sour the milk
Fire the hearth and put holes in the silk.

Brownies, Graylings, Pixies and Sylphs
Gremlins and Griggs and all of their ilk
There’s a ward of such sorcery they won’t ever come in
Rosemary, rose petals, black pepper and gin.
When you have one or two, then you start to sing
Rosemary, rose petals, black pepper and gin.
 
Contrary faerie wary be
There’s scary gin on the petals and rose on the leaves
Your wings will be furry and burns on your feets
Contrary faeries wary be yee.

Shrapnel 101

What does humanity deserve but this
In its button mouthed obsequious cowardice
The powers that direct dismiss
The relevance of human life
And work us hard in our own species sacrifice.

Ode to the lost innocence of Facebook

Sotto
Once so social, this list
Has listed, tacked a different keel
Set in cycles of fear.
My feed has become
Counter-revolutionary
Colonised by Capital
Selling low grade psalms, myths
Curiously distorted heuristics
This media, an instrument of measurement
Recombinant
America became afraid of its own socialism
Wall Street stoked subsidy of free things
Now the revolution degrades
Paymasters who bought clouds and code
Have plucked the goose bare, stuffed it
Wondering why gold eggs do not hatch
The patch, upon the patchwork
The hand me down brand all stitched
And what is this
The onward march of mathematics
That accountants yet resist.

Case for the consecution

Instead of progress and prostitution
Focus on
The congress and constitution
The dread of protest and procession
If there is contest of the concession
I profess this is protracted
Just confess if you're contracted
Forget all the talk about professional productivity
We need confessionals about conductivity.

Blueprint for the revolution - Icebergs I

 These

Crystal mountains bathed in sharp arctic light
Some slow souls dyed in clear blue of the sky
Of the live sea, glittering like insight
This life source in cliffs, sation crystallised

Firm as certainty in the rugged timescape
Apex, gulley, fluid hill, brief valley
Translucent in light, that bends and that shapes
Calm yet creaking, set mass of clarity.

For all the great height seen, all touched by light
Rising above, that shines and glowers
There is a counterweight nine-fold as great
In the murky depths from which it towers.

These icebergs will melt, difuse in clear sea
All locked in cold depths will one day be free.

Least resistance

If I was a flirt
And you were tired and hung over
This wouldn't hurt
Strung like a shawl round the form of another
Some lover.
I could write this for you.

If I had worked
Was tired and drained through
Lain langurous and languid
With loquacious lips
Whispering witless witticisms, wishes and quips
Would that settle your hips
Like the sea with its tide
Or need set flame to forest
To find what's inside?

If was a flirt
Which I'm scarce known to do
It wouldn't hurt just to tease
I could write this for you.

If I was a flirt, which would be a scandal
I could ornament an ornate handle
For your master-key
Perhaps this passion
Flows lazily, the path of least resistance
Like a river to sea
Just more chemical jewellery to your O2
It's just a piece of art
I could write this for you.

A flirt might mention you
Muse beautiful in presence and poise
But such words are cheap, simply noise
The act up and set up caused in all of the boys
These words are not yet written in true
Muse beautiful
I could write this for you.

II.

Since of course, I'm not a flirt
Seldom even bat a lash or raise an eyebrow to suggestion
But an artist who harnesses complexes for the purpose of expression
I could start to say

III.

There are no words for this
Our language is not shared
It is not created
Yet, its letters
Written in chemistry maps, hieroglyphs of textures
Across the inimiccable lattice
Of each galaxy's atlas
In the gravity created from memory
Between each light at dawn and us
Between memories of the echoed resonance of our spaced bodies.
The true speakers of the language of soul
Have no tongues
Our words are not yet made.

Pigs might fly

The sins of swindling gas networks
Swine. Digestive enzymes
Circular systems. Not production lines
Waste.
Pigs might fly.

Did not a pig fly a spitfire
In the war?
Pigs might fly from the gas
Of their own waste
Transcranial networks by Musk
Auto-pilot, methane in the rocket.

In the home of Cnut
Where wind-turbines were born
The swine keeps the light on
And neighbourhoods warm.

You might think this all gas
What I’m saying not true
That pigs might fly
But swine already flew.

Twyku for the Lemur born in Kyiv Zoo

So hope Bayraktar
Maybe you will fly
A captive life far from Madagascar
Is a caged house bombed better
Than the conflict upon the forest of your kin?
What is it to win?
The slow growing of a tree
To full vigour
The spread of mangrove by the sea
Only this is victory.

War drums

Grasses to ashes, ashes to the Grapes of Wrath
Fibrous humus crushed beneath the heavy laden hoof
What cause is this but thirst?
The sparse Sahara creeps
Past pillars of Hercules
Across the short sea to Sicilly
And in the West, the ice face of the Shore weeps.

We have left barrels uncast
A waste of fireworks far up a mountain pass
Silos of have built missiles
Half filled with grain
A just in time refined to adjust
The severity of pain.

What can justice be? In this time
Of Kings made children
Toys of the tools still writhing in their hands
A screech a swatch on clouded heaven
A tremor where we stand.

The demand curve shows a human surplus
The cost of death has decimated
The price of life a hockey stick
Of possibility and purpose.

This edifice of rock and light, of copper
Built atop a ziggurat, the tilted axis teetering
A hairpin slipped, the lever live
The young colt moves to cantering.

The free world has betrayed its name
Built its opposite by reflection
And seethes beneath a film of scum
As Olympus wars in insurrection. 

A palace

See the light cut
See the tumbling dust aeolian
Caught in a shaft of the high window
Hear the footfalls that echo
Across the hall
The wide handled balustrade
The chairs that stretch broad across the walls.

The residents flit about the coiling light
Scurry under doors
The empty space of silent night
Etched by a rustle on the floor.

These palaces
Shuttered with the fountains running
Stuttering with ruined walls
Butlered, polished and foresaken
A far cry from anguished calls.

We know the tent camps are numbered
Crowded in a click on busy screens
And that water drops on a marble floor
In a sumptuous space unseen.

Did it make a sound? Or prove another law
If no one saw the hand that made
The key turn in the door?
The palaces are locked while people starve
We have seen this all, before.

Struggle on the Steppe

How long can last a vicious tumult
Between two men
Struck through the foot with a bolt?

They been on pipe

They been on pipe
In the swamp
The loosened belt that lunches
Took what they want
High as kites and satellites
All lunched out on pipe.

Took pipe in Split, Belgrade
So 90s
Took pipe in Kirkuk, Erbil
Naughty
Took pipe in Sana, Aleppo
Teeny problem
Just look the other way.

No smoke without fire
No turbine without steam
I guess the promise of cold peace
Was just a pipe dream.

The broken pipe, a smoking gun
High on the great game, shame
Asian monopoly board
Still run by Gazprom

All those departments state
Dreaming. We been on pipe
For decades. Time is ripe to quit
What?
Smoking them pipes?
Like all the addicts say
We'll give up next Tuesday
Or if Russia invades.

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.