Fire Circle

These faces joined by fire,

Resemble each other in a way

That mocks proximity.

A brief chiaroscuro

Igniting our fates,

Caught in this ritual

Of flame and wonder.

.

Redeeming this patch

Of common ground,

Where truth holds out a burning hand

Against tomorrow.

Oracle

How many lamp posts are there in China?

Ask Google, you said.

Do you love me? / is sex is any good?/ are the neighbours watching?/ is two a crowd?

Ask Google.

Who’s Google? I said

Ask him!

Can he tell me who I am?

If you get the answer.

Can I Google myself if I don’t have a brain?

Can Google swim the Pacific?

Will Google save the human race?

Ask Google.

What’s a software clone, what’s a search engine, what’s a piece of string?

Do electrons know we exist?

Is the universe insane?

Did God invent sex?

Is Bill Gates a pop-up?

Do farts sound louder at high altitude?

Was the first elephant a mistake?

How many sods does it take to make sod’s law?

How many death squads does it take to change a light bulb?

Do you really want the answer? you shouted. Do you? Do you? Do you?

How should I know?

Then what are you asking me for?

Ask Google.

Out of Order

In the Freud Museum

At Berggasse 19,

The loo (where perhaps the great man had sat)

Was out of order.

What had he thought, I wondered,

As he pondered

On life.

In the consulting room,

A woman was talking loudly;

I studied photographs

Which I no longer remember,

Even under the influence

Of ink.

I thought of das Sofa,

That famous couch,

Far away in Hampstead;

How I'd kept watch

While you took a photo

On the quiet.

It’d felt eerie

Like watching the dead,

Or them watching us,

Which is much the same thing,

I imagine.

Leaving, I felt none the wiser,

Stepping out

Onto a damp Vienna street,

To find life waiting

Almost where I'd left it.

Camden Night

The moon has lost its way,
Meandering home,
Like the drunkard it is.

Pale outlaws wait
By Camden tube.
At bay in restless pubs,
Prophets ignore the hour.

On Camden Road, you can hear
Old men in bedsits
Berating the night.

The canal, which their ancestors dug,
Glints oddly, as if it understood:
Despair is the city’s fate,

Its heart of clay,
Beating back generations.

Future Thoughts

My favourite day of the week

Is tomorrow.

And, if I should find myself there,

One day,

Stepping from a time machine,

I won't wake up,

But walk on regardless.

Facing Up

Spent the day on Facebook

Checking out the sites.
The past won’t feel the same
Without you.

Each image hides a clue,
Virtual or actual.
False or True,
Fate plays our tune.

I sometimes feel
The dark side
Of the mirror
Is where we live most.

So then, it’s no crime
To be out here again,
Wandering the streets
Of Cyberspace.

Second Thoughts

Remember that chap

Who fell asleep,
And woke to a world of the blind,
Where Triffids ruled?

This story might never be written
Without him.

A bit like prophecy:
We wake in the dark
To a world only we can see;

And spend the rest of the night
Checking the room
For monsters.