blooms in plastic

my neighbour tells me a fox took his shoe

in the long grass, blooms in plastic

there’s a man in North London he says

in the meantime, he throws oranges from the market

he finds his shoe

.

they shoot foxes don’t they

well it’s been a long time

I admit your flowers go hard

but weeds live forever, what’s the rush

Encountering God in the hills and trees, yes, yes, of course!

You say “of course” too often, it’s very irritating

But in concrete

Dead eggs, unholy bones, playing cards

Kipple drives out nonkipple

“Base matter is external and foreign to ideal human aspirations, and it refuses to allow itself to be reduced to the great ontological machines resulting from these aspirations.” - Bataille

The great age of religious fervour: everything works

a snapped peg, that fridge, your failure, my love

carnival and lent

the history of history is the relation between a line and a circle

you draw shapes in the academy’s sand

and armed men smoke at the perimeter

it’s not going to get weird, it always was

fate is masked providence, doing his little dance, there is no mood

when I visited the pyramids (one or many?) the entities, bemused,

I did not understand their decor, all zeros and ones

and a turning globe, an aspirational hotel-piece

I understand why they said “get back to nature!”

you have to laugh

.

and when you tire of the ecstasy of communication

there are ghosts

and ruins, and the ruins of ruins

Sophrosyne