I am not I
she said
while waggling
her eyebrows
and directing
everyone’s attention
away from
the fire
behind her


My Book

My book is full of pages
that are full of words
and is thus a metaphor
that I shall use
again and again
and with sly intent
while the little people
watch sadly from the wings
and do not understand
the profundity
of my book

World Poetry Day

is World Poetry Day
so I
shall write some World Poetry

It will not rhyme
so stop saying it should
and stop torturing Neil Gaiman
who doesn’t have to write rhyming poetry
if he doesn’t want to

It will be self-referential
because it is deliberately bad
and it will even mention
its deliberate badness
in an ironic postmodern sort of way
which will be even more ironic and postmodern than usual
because it contains the words “ironic” and “postmodern”
three times each

It will be pompous
and self-important
which is not a comment on poetry in general
though some will take it as such
and will demand my head
in iambic pentameter

In the end
it will not really have all that much to do
with poetry at all
and will simply hang out on the Internet a bit
eventually to be forgotten
like tears in the rain

(And in case you were wondering
that was the bit
where it stole blatantly from Blade Runner
in a failed attempt
to seem ever so slightly profound)


My thumbtacks are profound
so profound
so full of lightning
through the meadow of remembrance
and past
the wasteland of desire

You will never miss the sound
of the albatross whining
oh how it whines
oh how it snivels and whines
and never look back


O faithful printer
you are apparently printing blank pages now
then pausing
and printing the first few lines of each page
then presumably pausing
and printing the next few lines
though I’m not sure
because I turned you off to save paper

I think maybe
I’ll have to replace you
which is not unexpected
as you are about ten years old

I’m sure there is something profound
about this situation
but as of yet
I have not figured out
what it is


The profound nonsense
inherent in the soul-tears of leaves
harrows my skin
and tips me
into the melancholy
of summer steak night

Chase the owl
towards the sunset
in its pyjamas
without the roller skates
and mourn
the fallacious tree roots

is merely the absence
of really


puppies everywhere
bouncy bouncy puppies
so profound
and covered with similes
big goofy puppies
representing figurative language
longing for pie
and pi
and cuddles
so many puppies
in the search for meaning