Latitude – midnight.

Longitude – Hamlet pissing from a window.

ABSTRACT: Veins filled with barium. Compassion for the fools who cannot feel their puppet strings. Vast stretch of uninhabited tropical beach nuked on twilight. The Rich. Confiscate their paintings and rare dinner sets. Might is Right. 300 years of history repeats in one weekend. So it never happens again. Remember. Don’t forget. Those who know history will dream up more thorough tortures. Cut up Thema Luxury.

THESIS: Intricate and well researched we need radios in peoples’ blood. Methods of getting a radio in the veins and therefore the brain have varied in the last century. Today the way is to inhale a spray containing barium, an element unique in radiological properties. The procedure is to dissolve the salt in water and spray it from an aeroplane, above the suburbs and business districts, where silly children play their stupid games. We must however not deride them for their ignorance. It’s what we wanted yes. Build a building, lock men in there and those outside will believe in liberty. We invent the words, we build the dreams, we concoct the chemicals and sell them on the street. We invented freedom and told you what it means. We took Love hostage last century, you don’t know who she really is, or her other name, Despair. Fool you to think the euphemisms used really refer to the thing we speak about. Should the analyst exclude himself, or forget to include himself, both are proof of his absence. Master Theologian is a tumor in need of extraction, to recuperate in a defacto situation…its policies expanded everywhere…the murmur-line builds in the mind the image of The Hated Man.

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NOTE
This poem is the title-piece of my collection Memories like angels at a ball tripping over their gowns 2007. It has never been published outside of the collection. In 2003 I signed a three book contract, A Dark Samadhi was the first…all went well until one day I got a visit from a forensic accountant wanting to know if the publisher owed me any money. They had gone into liquidation. Bye-bye dreamed about three book contract Anyway, the second, which was almost complete when all of this happened, I opted to self publish. The chances of another contract coming along, I figured, was pretty damn slim. I was correct, nine years later, still no publisher. For what it’s worth, if you like my poetry, please consider buying a copy at the link above. I know you’d much rather spend your money on beer or coffee or whatever, but contemporary poetry is an art that it is in it’s death throes. It’s dangerous stuff serious poetry, and those old crinkly baby boomers are trying their hardest to maintain their nepotistic hold on the crappy capitalist world they built, they don’t want you thinking for yourself, they don’t want poetry.