the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...


In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man…

an internet television station broadcasts
true-blue moments a celebration of public events
and private ecstasies an ode to the divinity of skin shrines
its peercast trojan sits comfortably in scores of homes
and comes alive as the night dawns

in the Hungarian capital there’s a conclave of two women
one pert blonde another perky brunette
exploring their felinity with a leather couch as a perfect foil
ah these Budapest girls sounds of their slurping
like gurgling of water in a freshwater brook

somewhere in United States a young mother goes to work
while a barely eighteen babysitter looks after her kid
as the child is tucked away to the world of fairies
knock knock enters the hulk of the house and so continues
the adventures of the babysitter she likes it a little rough

in their farmhouse in rural Wisconsin
Dawn and Drew cosy up to podcast their three times a week
reality show ah the septic tank leak needs to be plugged
and everyman and everywoman from South Dakota to Seoul
pry into their lives with a voyeuristic delight

perched somewhere in cyberspace Wired columnist Regina Lynn
high priestess of tech sex interplay with amazing knockers
mulls over the release of handheld PlayStation Portable
a manna for gamers musicians pleasure-seekers in the fast lane
could it be a killer application for mobile culture

welcome to Xanadu

…Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise

(27 March 2005)

Italicised portions are from Kubla Khan, a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge