Your week this week will go off
like a rotten egg. Such is life.
This fragment of a year will crack
and spill all over you, achieve
new heights of boredom and disgust.
Why? Do you ask why the fungus
grows at the tree’s base and grows
rotten? Come on. Just accept it
like you accept that your eyes
will look where you decide
and not just swing around like
billiard balls in a washing machine.
Next week brings with it new challenges
as exactly the same thing happens
for the hundred and eleventh time.
But this one, this is the one, I can feel it.
The stars are spread out in the orrery
like thick yeast extract on toast.
Things are everywhere finding it difficult
to connect. Take Bellatrix
for example. A salty taste on the tongue
just don’t let it touch an open cut.
Inside this emptiness of pain feeling
there is another expanse of tiny stars –
from each new star, we see new constellations
and the red bloom in Orion
is aching to reach them.
Close one eye for a while and things look flat.
There are an endless array of bears in the sky
clouds, atoms, birds, planes, galaxies –
all of these are bears if you look closely.
This week will bring bears.
Best not to pronounce to a thing
its end, until the subtle end
is so current as to be read
easily in the cirrus and high
cumulus of the dull cloud-banks
spelled in mile high text out along
the north sea. Where it says – the end.
Like the end of an early film
perhaps with a full orchestral
fanfare and winged horses, what not.
Then it’s probably okay to
call it. Though we can just click
watch again. Let’s start it over
right now. A big bang, transformations,
and stellar forces spinning like
a universal whirligig
and then things happen and so on.
Really not much changes as things
grow more spread out until one thing
is quite the same as the other!
And beginnings are just as odd.
So, I let a few days go by, till
I thought their tears must be dried;
and then I set off for Pisa.
In thought, light takes the place of the sword.
Through each corridor of plastic – flows
this thing we call our movement but is one;
the blue and the red cancel out here
and everything bathes in sparks and pastel
glow. Years of training, tribulation has led
to the point where each prediction unfolds
hyperdriven stars of prediction. And she knows
all coordinates in the force indicate this one point.
Where time moves and vanishes. It is life.
Or the end if you want to call it that. This light
side her opponent cannot grasp, snapped in
on the concrete moment and the feel of sword
cutting through metal and skin. There is more
to a fight than winning it. That’s the dull phrase
but more. Gaining from this loss all power
by choosing to elevate choice into its finale.
To a watcher this fight is not spectacular unless
you know each feint, each test contains millennia.
This is the secret the ones in black cannot grasp
confined to the red of this world by greed
fear, anger, hate, suffering. The light side has this
but not just this. Watch as the robe hits the floor
and a million new hopes unfold from it