CARA and the ANTHROPIC PRINCIPLE

Our little singularity has taken the ‘uncertainty principle’ 
to another dimension.
Geodesic in her search for experience
She associates with virtual particles
With a seemingly infinite regularity.

All we can be sure of is that the more we know 
what she is doing
the less we know where she is doing it, 
and who with.

Talking to her these days is like going one on one with the universe.

She tells me she fears the ‘big crunch’.
She tells me that she is a particle 
looking for an anti-particle to collide with.
She tells me that she views life the way she does because 
if it were different then she wouldn’t be here to observe it, would she?

She hopes she is living in a continually expanding universe.
I wish she would live in mine.
Or visit sometime.
Instead of pushing on each others gravitational force
Like magnets repelling at an ‘event horizon’.


NO COWS ON THE MOON

She dreams her lunar dream
And with the settling of moondust upon her eyes
She transports herself
Molecule by molecule to a tranquil sea, and floats…

Lying on a vacuum bed, she stirs
Sees the morning from a new perspective
Wakes to black tea and toast
She reasons that breakfast on the moon is not recommended,
So books into a run-down motel called Mars…

She dreams her lunar dream
And walks on boldly where she’s never been before
Dancing over this stepping-stone solar system
A pirouette on Pluto and she’s gone…



BURNING NEGATIVES

She’s electricity
Lying on circuit-boards of uncertainty
Her dreams, amp-ridden wells of fear
She falls concentric and coils around herself.

She’s flammability
Lying sub-duvet praying for spontaneity 
Her love, a restrained combustion
She shuns vogue in favour of tepid embers.

She’s hurt
Lying in the discomfort of past tense
Her fears, another notch on the rack of dreams
She befriends the cramps and aches of present tense.

She’s out of order
Lying unsure in photographic silence
Her head, a jumble of burning negatives
She stomachs the kick with a wolverine smile.

She’s unattached
Lying singular, pleasure in vein
Her life, an unfettered vibe on the wind
She drifts upon a mattress raft in a bed-sit ocean.



Wildfowl

Wing tips tap, lap the surface like
Twin dancers miming ‘the mirror’
Outstretched wings clapping with
The precision of a metronome 

Carving through air, easy as butterfly strokes
Stay in lane with the rush-hour power glide
Alongside metal cats and kittens
Eyeing up their take-off style, do they possess

Predestination that haunts their instincts
Makes them sneer and screech disapproval 
Or distaste at Carrion Crows resting
On the wings of our Angel, does he condone

The behaviour witnessed as incidental?
No eyes to gauge cause and effect
No judgements passed upon the indigenous 
Surely the wisest of us all

Stands detached, unaware of his art
Unaware that in time he will symbolise 
Re-generation, regionalisation, the logo 
Of where he stands

His viewpoint will come to matter
To the voyeurs of his almost silent wings
As wildfowl perch there
Absorbing the hum.