dendrites and demons

the poet in me
steps across the filaments of stars
and the oceanic wastes
of dark space
my ruby black cosmos
mistakenly referred to in English
as “space”
mistakenly, as you may have
already guessed
being chock-full
of matter
and weightiness
if only our scientists cared to know
but they have theories to uphold
theories to defend
so let them think what they will
the truth, an irascible dog
will doubtless creep up behind
and bite their collective ass
or british english “arse”
so stepping o’er the time-space debacle
with a practised nonchalance
i note how the low lying fruit has
already been snatched,
i suspect that the poet
is about to rear a shaggy
prophetic head and pronounce
as if from the blue
a new age
a new way with words
perhaps involving
parallel processing
one grows tired of linear sequencing
you know
or some other turning of the tide
affront to common
and deterministic intelligence
woe betide the faculty of reason
when words are on the march
when thoughts are jumbling
through a blender on their way
to just in time absorption
at the far end of the gastrointestinal
tract
the mind’s a synchromesh
ill adapted to biologics
the fluid dynamics of
words on the go
a natural force synergising
the dark dark matter of space
which you abhor
and rightly a-void
avoid at any cost
nay, demonise
with whiteful consciousness
until chirrup, a bolt from below
a dendritic tear in the fabric of sameyness
pum pa pum, living word
loosed from stygian depths
lets rip through the fossil fueled agency
of poem, its fish tail slapping
the face of man
before skittering out of hand
and salopping back into
the silent hallows of
exponentialities
beyond cognisance
rhyme or  or
leaving no trace
nothing
but an utterly altered
landscape
of what was assumed
and what is secretly
known

dear god
ask not what i can say or
do as man
ask only
for the shaggy wayward
brace as i
poem my soul back
back into the
broken receptacle
the sarcophagus of space
that is humankind
and finally
finally resonate
without needing
any recompense
i