Sunday, 30 December 2012

After Infinitude

To facilitate science's labour of disenchantment
the marriage of  the continental with analytical
they're erecting outhouses pro-rata
anticipating the arrival of drunks

The so-called speculative realist position
for the most part feels
like poison by the ice bucket
a world of abrasive scouring
inside the yellow gauze of
gondola jaundice

the last drink in
 the last bar in
 the last warzone

(I redress my shortfallings by b&w photographs from the front lines)
A hypothetical retroactive annihilation

of all forms
by extinction.

How the fabric of matter itself
isn't rankled, I don't know.

A neo-scholasticism appropriate
to transhumanist speculation,
dense and allusive

The age of
direct assertion makes most in its path
It starts with one line or word
paint feelings absurd
not sure, or inflated
it seems feted, least of all
dark and unrelated
to the carry on of the great 
and gurning juvenile 

A painting a day
keeps truth at bay
I need a show in great haystacks
to feel gay
and keep bailiffs away.

Friday, 28 December 2012


love is the fall
and nothing else
With this quart of six
I am a mystery
Applying my melancholy
To the sex

and there are those who don't want to fall
but the fall is perhaps all
the sense of no gravity 
the ground ceasing to limit
Fearless and nimble and phobic
all at once
Fair of heart, ye maidens..
fair as maidens demure

Sunday, 16 December 2012

We were supposed to go out of the world, into ourselves
but instead we
went out of ourselves and into the world.

Sunday, 9 December 2012

Winter Song

In winters heart lies 
a rueful wretch 
with many
names, none to be particularly
fearful of

death and the 
manure of rebirth
sauntering over hell
in pagan woods
recurrence yes
but eternal?


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