CosmiKnot

Here is a poem An if not now when? *Passes the binoculars Think of it like a bird-table hanging from a goat-willow tree Somewhere for the sparrows to arrive upon and take succour inside its damp moss covered form A miniature primitive hut evoking the majesty of Corinth Suspended for a moment mid-air seeds spilling to the ground below Birds twitching like anti-matter bulbs in an inverted roadside illumination beckoning drivers to stop and grab some nutritious sustenance a bite to eat before continuing on their way to the final destination the museum of human endeavour. 

Now that's what I call now   You have to admit that Gary Numan may well have had a point But that is the point isn’t it? Isn’t it After all, why should there be a point other than the total of the form itself? Perhaps we are required to listen to his song in the car to experience the fleeting infinity of mind body machine model immersion. Conveniently his single is a singularity in no dimensions And journalism is the calculus of the music world with paper doilies on Gary sings sung sang here in my car I feel safest of all. I can write that down Here on this page And it stops before my eyes The ink drying as I resist the temptation to smear the words Make them less sure of themselves. I did think it might be good to discuss this In the style of Sylvia Plath But that would be derivative Do you see what I did there? I planted a clue for the stalkers out there My fellow stalkers stalking the thing we call the point But you have to talk quietly and keep your distance Or it becomes an ac...