the way of the holy mushroom

My poetry is jamming your machine

It broke the photo-copier, I’m to blame,

With pictures copied from a world unseen.

o

My poem is in the works -I’m on the scene

We free my verse, and I confess my shame,

My poetry is jamming your machine.

o

Though you berate me with what might have been,

You stop to read the poem, just the same,

And pictures, copied from a world unseen,

o

Subvert the icons on your mental screen

And open windows with a whispered name;

My poetry is jamming your machine.

o

For chosen words can change the things they mean

And set the once-familiar world aflame

With pictures copied from a world unseen

o

The mental props give way, on which you lean

The world you see will never be the same,

My poetry is jamming your machine

With pictures copied from a world unseen

o

Malcolm Guite