Wittgenstein in the garden of Babel
After Peter Porter
is as, the world is as: words lay
As heaped autumnal leaves.
Devoid of life now – having
Been sent through – a mind and mouth:
Out of a window – trees evolve
Too slowly to be seen, too quick
For time’s body. The picture is hung –
At An Angle to complete – to perceive.
Xeno’s shadow; lurks around.
Before Wittgenstein’s light and darkness
Cast his shadow of the vision
Of the scene: cold light breaks in Finland.
Given the razored edge
Of Natures abstruse abstract.
Cut by silence the brooding angry
- whose language is what it is.
Pisa, Eiffel, Blackpool, and The Sears –
The light, the draw, the raw, raw power
Always empty. The space awaiting
to be filled, as Einstein sleeps on
The moons brief puncture
Is as it cuts land open before their feet.
The aged anger lies not far below –
Alongside the shark and serpent.
Among the mathematical cosmos
Remain rusted together.
Seen through a lens or eye.
As the night and the night roll on
Something unspoken is: or given over
To pleasure or pleasure
The new art school
Say what you want coz this is the new art school. Art School the Jam Paul Weller
Here! There! Here! Awaiting the new applause
Originality, the underlying clause.
Here, in this new art school
Is where every charlatan and every fool.
Is made, forged, and broke
The cost of seriousness is no joke.
The caged beast bites and claws
Smashing, minds, and smashing doors.
Into other worlds: that can never
Really exist, no one is ever that clever.
The new art school makes and fails in one breath
Awaiting your fame ’fingers crossed’ before death.