empire cyst

random patterns
are for gods and slatterns
the dance of atoms
is a repeating fractal
and none has cracked all
the codes tumbling slowly
through orbits about our heads
those superstrings are strange threads
stitched into tapestries that tatter
when we try to reconcile energy and matter

that teleological argument attracts
but every theory eventually cracks
as the flaw becomes apparent in the testing
trying to identify the states in which we’re resting
like immovable objects awaiting some catalyst
some supercollider spark of genius erupting
you’re looking in one direction and all else is missed
do you wonder about the universe you’re corrupting?
the universe will passively resist
the inquiries of a scientist
like the self-blinded man of faith
he spends his life chasing a wraith


It preys on those without,

Slowly attacking within,

With the covers of his bed drawn about

Him he looks ill and thin —

Sunken in a deep depression,

Society fades in the shade of recession.

The soul dwindles

As the fire poverty kindles

Burns him like misery in flames

Of prolonged obsession,

He’s forgotten all his friend’s names,

All of them just a faceless procession.

He slips into gloom,

Only seeing doom —

He’s trapped in a room

Where he’s lost the key

And the man with the broom

Has swept away the free.

Seconds are seeds for long minutes,

Which branch out and turn into hours,

From hours the long day flowers,

The month is a trunk

Which all the junk

Of depression falls in,

And even when he tries to begin

Again the year quickly sours,

Sadness sits in one of its ivory towers,

Unassailable to all it appears —

Nothing gets through to the bringer of tears.

PCP Lethal Injection

His gravity gets him down,
From his cage he’s looking out —
Trapped in a habit in another town,
In the vicious circle of the ring it’s another bout.
He steals because they deal in notes,
Resting on their opium floats
In their deep hulled cocaine boats,
Over the addict the dealer gloats —
Watching them slip into overdose,
Being careful not to get too close.
A temporary hypodermic heaven,
Better than to live a life unleaven:
He’s rising like yeast
Through the chemical diversion
Into a recess where there’s a primal beast
Waiting to be fed
In his emptying head,
Then the condition begins to worsen.
They all start to deny
The fact that they rely
Upon their daily fix,
Blindness is up to its usual tricks.
Humanity and ethics are up for dissection,
Under the pressure of the lethal injection,
We can see PCP as a retina spot in the eye,The high is a lie and they come down to die.

Blue Days Black Nights

I sit back and watch the
mill of the world
turn on its axis,
grinding life in its full circle,
crushed ears hear
bad old times and bad new times
just the same —
it’s fear
to blame.

On the back of the causal flow
we drift along, no need to row:
we either start to try
and make a stand,
or relax, drift through,
then curl up and die.

Man’s ultimate futility
makes him show no humility.
Those without are covered up
and slip into statistical haze:
blue days.
Those forced to flight
sleep a dark disturbed night,
the colour divide
compounds the plight
and onwards we rideinto the black night.