Paul Robinson Poetry

Without Which Not

I borrow your geology, geography, biology, theology, physics and chemistry; your psychology, photography, philosophy, musicology and history to create my Frankenstein’s Monster surfaced with complect fauna and flora. You are complicit, yet there has been no crime; only a kiss, an embrace, information transmitted across interface, which now cohabits the cerebrum. A sentence is no longer condemned by grammatical dimension upon close attention the reader will visualise infinite signification. The word, the language unit, is merely the foliage to gather sight, each connected by stems intersecting innumerable locations, the mind travels in abstract space, mapping the relations that normal vision cannot trace. Poetry is the diagram of abstract travel and the igniter; it is the diastolic sine qua non, a representation of neural logomotion memory (and) print (can) capture. It is a bowl of noodles, a fur-ball, an Owl’s pellet, the elastic core of a golf ball: It is the future of in-tense language.



The Phone Box



Orison for the Squaddie Beggars


Let St. Martin wrap the beggars who petition for change,
So they may be assuaged from shop-door misery.
Let him honour those thousand enlisted, discharged
To the Civvy Streets, dishonoured by our inattention.