To dance to time backwards,
with neither flesh nor bone
in step to the last syllable:
a first bar to put an end
to race, wars and religion.
The sort of party
-all completely good natured –
levelling up things.
Would that be so bad ?
Held by the light of moon:
as out of the crypt we crept mad
with nobody watching except our friends,
everyone dancing a shade unclad.
Any description will do – even resurrection –
Here at Gravesend.
Whether thieving in Ealing,
Looting in Tooting
Or mortars in Bayswater.
Heavens !
Whatever ends you from,
Let not clouds descend
On Kensington.
so we bless god for this our genesis,
in splendour silent
where there is more to print
literally;
we print more in green ink;
gladly, gladly
we pioneer
with heads of heads,
news
where blinded and broke –
busted,
with bills to pay with more bills
along a stony path of thrills
littered with i owe you’s,
silent.
by another name, the nameless wood:
a strenuous monotony of being awake
where i could not go on
but did
to the middle of a vision
to walk and go beyond
going to the limit
to hear only the echo of footsteps
in my viewless, steady tread.
i had no more lust for knowledge
even its branches
suspended even from sleep talk
to know more about my sleepwalk –
in this soft earth only secrets.
as i realised the senses between night and morning
are nameless.
In room airless,
What are the limits
Of symbols and shapes?
What are they ?
And what does it take
To be a symbol
And to be a shape ?
To be floating on nil horizon
In monochrome past
And colour present ?
In room airless,
What does the unsaid say at that moment ?
I think love should be subtle
Just like this bottle
that is smashed over
your head all soft and memorable;
a driving passion
to divide your legs
like capitalism.
That takes to the limit
something sensitive,
even offensive,
at a party of rich gorillas
discussing violence in terms amorous
as the little people pass below
both faraway and stupid.