Comatose; cocooned and camouflaged,
Defended, healing and shielding
Myself from myself somehow,
From my climbing, from my falling.
Hidden from all consciousness
By no choice of mine,
Induced - lack of consciousness
Of self awareness, there’s no sign.
For my own good I’m hidden,
Saved and repleted.
Filled with metal and morphine,
Whilst from myself, I’m impeded.
I can’t act nor respond,
Even once I wake.
Apparently in the oven too long,
A golden brown vegetable bake.
My eyes are open, I’m hidden no more,
From that paralytic stupor such that flaunts death’s door.
All these things my family face, from mortality to brain damage,
The pain is unbearable - sly, sincere and savage.
Couldn’t everything else follow suit?
And ties, skimming from
Lounge to lounge
Arrival to Departure
On the human conveyor belts of
Mass produced, flesh postage,
To imitate genuine communication.
Commerce feeds commerce
As the salamander spots its own loud tail
And begins to nibble, then chew
Poisoning, poisoning, poisoning.
These are not exciting nor joyous
Laughter does not complement the sick arrhythmic cough and splutter
Of wheeled click-clackers across predictable mortars of bland floors.
Brian Eno patters behind me on what could only be a giant armadillo
And keeps mentioning that I ought to take more note of the architecture.
As organic and inorganic
Combine and intertwine
As you and I squirm and grapple
On the pavement.
As passion bursts past buttons
As the Great Mother of all
Named you, next to me
Veined you, in her vain.
I, James Lovelock
Hypothesise how lust’s clock
Can tick faster
To that midnight murder,
Of crows ascending
Off the deathbed of
And the crucifix of Earth
We share in want to procreate.
Coarse on our backs
Harsh in the fact
That romance did not bring us here.
Or a natural selection?
For I, James Lovelock,
Borne of you and you of me
Creator of the Earth
And all the Universe
the world is divided into two kinds of people: those who divide the world into two kinds of people… and losers?