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.