Thursday, 26 May 2011


I do like the random firework jerk on the nerves
the clockwork rationale,
the banal and the senile,
Ones and naughts
primary symbols like those of
penile and vulva.

The dignity of man is all we've lost
that well of feeling
the hell of being.

In post modern
there is no present
it isn't regal
it ain't deity
there is only past, future

My piss be digital
my scope narrow, binary
the chastiser's drizzle digitised

Post modern
like post-mortem
also means
In Digital
emotional pain,
escape from this blackened ark
Away, away from
Medusa's heart thump
into fractured imagary,
hollow rain,
Zero's and ones
non-accumulative time
reflecting non-continuously
without the continuity of
the silken aisle, serendipity.

Running from the blight of 
the dark and wooden dead
One can choose to be digitised
Milton's Lucifer,
devising debased imitations
of glories,
this scheming understudy
with futile knowledge
this fool needs in perpetuity
the future.

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