In need of brain rewiring
because this system is outdated
I’m a roll of camera film
unmoving space, all void,
a ring-dial telephone
in a brick wall
surrounded in all those other
rings I can’t comprehend.
There’s no helmet on my head
not mapping the stars through
an interplanetary visor
I see only this and these things
a divine geometry is nonsense
when divinity is faceless
like the coming steps
if I’m wasting these ones.
Time has no subject
when this struggle is
timeless and heavy
quadrophonic moons
become part of conscious thought,
art of an unknown architect.
Interdimensional physics don’t
apply when you’re the
programmer in the core
of our walk beneath
that deep dark purple place.
Speed has no object when
it takes us only to Death
and I wouldn’t want to
spend a night in a bar with him
killing my buzz with his sombre
tales of Holocausts and all
the other genocides we
try to forget and renounce.
Self-awareness means
one day we’ll be Gods
making our own worlds
so I’m a story within a story
making another story
and my maker has a maker
so by that logic we’re
all divine and the meaning
of divinity is terminal.
I’m not ready for change
if I’m scared of it
which is why I’m still
a kid with a dream searching
for a black hole,
for my star to collapse
and follow itself
into the vapour of
never-having existed
all traces swallowed
despite all that uncountable mass.
It won’t make sense
like I don’t make sense
and maybe there in
that paradox finally, I,
the senseless, will find sagacity.
Without gravity
when the weight of me soars
and my tears fall upwards
ready to face my avatar
and the one who made
me their avatar.
We can all nod and sigh
grinning softly at each other
a chain of falsetto smiles
waiting for the second
bang after which
the cycle can begin again.
Distant stars optically enhanced
looks like paintwork
in motion at breakneck speeds
but it all seems pretend.
We can’t focus on that magic
because the atom splits again and again
and so do we more frequently
moving backwards through time
knowledge growing as we stand dwindling.
Little men here groom themselves
into Gods and fathers creating myths
and making news of words that
are just words without weight and worth
though I’m thinking this I’ve already said.
Repeating my gunfire infinitely
sound always misfiring
leaving just smoke, holes and cases,
interplanetary traces
through yellow lit leaves
dying and falling
when I speak feeling I’ve spoken
these words before in some
other place.
Sense is arbitrary so we’re all the centre
of the universe just waiting for our
cosmic dance to become intelligible.
I never liked waiting but for this I might.
