Anti Matter (New Poem)
Anti Matter
Sexy early summer rain against the window just makes
their eyes brand deeper the middle of the night light
brings back the man in mask, with a tusk or a dinosaur tooth,
antlers and a stag’s head on the wall, a map of Africa before
the war on some antique table. The cut of geometry
across the contours of geography, the clash of colours
in my growing brain. Ritual abuse; the dark
matter of the social sciences for every mass
that matters there’s masses that never will.
Lesson one: finding light in a rabbit warren.
Lesson two: food from rust.
When they pulled those tiny white roots from Jersey
dungeon earth I sat on my new carpet in an old room
by the red BBC banner as the clenched fist flexed
and relaxed and I wished this open hand was free
to hold but in reality I would never punch
as hard now our teeth are in sterile jars. The map
lesions to URLs and an Arab Spring. I remember
that regard in the eyes of the sheep in the rain
and dream in song again.
Bless new medications, bless the free texts,
bless free education and being an issue, not a stat.
All the twittering beyond your windows is the burnt
the begging the taken out sea or shoved down
esophagi that I counted on my fingers and toes.
Every blue growling hope is kicking forever,
permanent and recoverable in me.
Sexy early summer rain against the window just makes
their eyes brand deeper the middle of the night light
brings back the man in mask, with a tusk or a dinosaur tooth,
antlers and a stag’s head on the wall, a map of Africa before
the war on some antique table. The cut of geometry
across the contours of geography, the clash of colours
in my growing brain. Ritual abuse; the dark
matter of the social sciences for every mass
that matters there’s masses that never will.
Lesson one: finding light in a rabbit warren.
Lesson two: food from rust.
When they pulled those tiny white roots from Jersey
dungeon earth I sat on my new carpet in an old room
by the red BBC banner as the clenched fist flexed
and relaxed and I wished this open hand was free
to hold but in reality I would never punch
as hard now our teeth are in sterile jars. The map
lesions to URLs and an Arab Spring. I remember
that regard in the eyes of the sheep in the rain
and dream in song again.
Bless new medications, bless the free texts,
bless free education and being an issue, not a stat.
All the twittering beyond your windows is the burnt
the begging the taken out sea or shoved down
esophagi that I counted on my fingers and toes.
Every blue growling hope is kicking forever,
permanent and recoverable in me.
