Sunday, August 14, 2005

Dince the Dentable Dork Called

A moan poet whose work no-one
will riddle

until the global brain
has brought to its chamber of gas
poetry's cold bloodied carcass
attended by a top-weight team
of sermon-faced sophists
deep in language conversing
abstruse

beyond non-understanding

in a swamp of post-modern thought
addressing webs of hypotheses
resting on the basis of what lies
beyond in the moment unknown
or reached, but connected to now
by a bridge of wisdom conceived
erect with solid reflexive ideas
and the full support of conjecture
believed to be fact
waiting to be found

once XY and Z
turns to
AB and C

and some ustoppable force of truth
turns reason out on its ear and wel-
comes in Derrida, Baudrillard,
Krestiva, Barthes, and the symphonic
absence

usurping 1, 2 & 3 into a possible 6
that may be a 4, or nine, depending
on how the colour of tomorrow's
noon strikes the sound of yesterdays
light

site

where onlookers standing
in swamps of complexity
ponder on unbelief and why
the human condition cannot bend
time to its will

with the knowledge philosophers
make up in time spent farming
and fishing the mind for proof
of being essentially moved
to reason the faith of beauty.

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