omnicide or superhuman cosmicide  

long lived areosols     war of the trawlers     

seabed shreds    bots   triffids    

a glass house menagerie        

we will open all doors to take away

moments ever had       writ now          on tabloids

which will be erased

our experience about & present    

in our crooked corner of the world    

as indifferent as day & night   

head on    all the hype    a tattered flag   

a battered form   signal & sign    before ruins  

a monolithic artefact     the grain of yesterday’s tears

vanishing on a whim   in a whirlwind of dust

in multiple dusts     

every day the fumes rage    print the page

we rise from with hands of clay           

hang the numbers out to dry   a bag of tricks


enough bread on the window sill to feed a thousand birds

goat shit in the air       we walk on fetid sewers

like the rats that inhabit them             immuno

O noble savage

what lies beyond the heart of darkness


Elon Musk thinks we must be in a simulation

otherwise we’d have gone extinct

& he’s footing the bill

we can’t object

to being disembodied brains in vats

on clipboards              anymore than dinosaurs!

like a long dead insect

motor cycles in electric windows gleam

as if trying to get on    to get off         a swerve

on the hill       jammed in the valley

houses stacked like egg boxes

cloud & smoke           at the interstices

traffic drone    pedestrians cast like shadows

at night            orange electrics

hang out converging symmetries almost ephemerally

i am its inmate    its identity

a dark amorphous mass

turning towards a lighted doorway

to scrawl its signature

a fictitious identity effacing present

with a replaced distance         yonder 

where the moment drifts    

a wandering mind  on a happen stance edge

like light on the sea                  

an ephemeral instance of memory    

a dazzling illusion of tongues

stained with the dust of ages 

where i walk on sand 

hearing those voices fall over              the horizon of this flat world

our mirror neurons reconstructing a past

as a theatre of ghosts           a semblance

clinging to the threshold of the present

on the precipice of nothingness

a lottery tumbler of memory

we choose at random    listen to the echoes

of our idiot dreams     address the parade

of paradoxical masks              sink into our

straight jackets that bind us to tomorrow’s sky

with its empty promises from before

nothing is resolved     to be continued

things just get further away    a distance lost

in the translation of the moment on a qucksilver sand

where memory betrays the mirror symmetries from before

on this landslide life               where all the riddles remain

which i cannot fish out from the pond of meaning

to dazzle the day         those enigmas

that have shaped me up to the intangible now that i am

as unexpected their appearance & disappearance were        

they can mean no more purpose for me

but that i was not their cause              on looking back


gray is no one’s color by fire
the color of the color of soldiers
heralding both blandness and doom
rendered not in white it lingers incognito
gray the color each one hides

a pang of mourning for all colours fall
gray wars are therefore all of life when consumed

gray plague in this saturated world
the dampness of dishwater and disappointment
gray god beneath white
gray gods industry and uniformity
gray people & their dogs in the wild black-and-white gray scrub
five hundred colors fade into a once drained leaden sky

gray beer on the wind

desaturated version the texture makes all the others
speak the human eye
perceives death of trees the death battleships
despite its dullness it cubicles and winter camouflage
gray apocalypse gloaming its liminal color

gray meat gray stew
because the world into which it is the color of gray

gray cloud
gray hair
gray teeth
gray meme
gray dream

in the theory of gray
by shades of gray

gray money

gray is every color

gray joi de vive
gray sex

gray Armageddon

gray is all theory

is the one that
is the one that


i’ve no plan for my next poem

the phrase flashed across my mind

                        (swamped out under a deluge of indifference

in this scene

i could be just a pixel on a screen      a fractal   an algorithm simulated

on a quantum computer & replayed in the year         5000 & something

the car that just now crosses my woodland tracks

could be an inserted programme by the simulator

altering the space time context           a possibility

as there would be no

real time          just the configuration of the spatio temporal order

but i doubt that’s the reality of my (now)                   more likely

i’m under surveillance

& we haven’t yet

reached the

Brave New World era

where we’d still prefer

to be inside the Panopticon

than without with the weirdos

& wild beasties

but right now i figure

we’re not even heading that way

& if a comet doesn’t blow us away meantime

think that all the birds in the sky were once dinosaurs

& that we too could possibly shrink

until we disappear through our own

mythic phantasmagorial leaving

only our relics for the next arrivals

which won’t be UFO’s

spinning in interminable

space               as they’re

just crashed quantum computers

the only thing in the Demiurge

that changes    are it’s laws

regularities     from time        to time            but isn’t it true

once upon a time

we sapiens

walked in forests

a thousand feet high

with the wild avialae streaming

in our flowing hair


Outward bound

harvest bales

yellow bundles

a  day’s heart’s blaze

camouflages the human Ey

Hay fly         EyE of the fly

a pin cushion of air in spin

a darting mosaic   


cacophony of machine

on asphalt clay

our monuments of decay

out of the absence

EyE of the fly


entangling the speed of light

a mosaic out of the shadows

out of the insect & their flowers

out of the insecticide

desicated plastic

on the rusted barbed wire fencing

shattered glass in the ditch    

our pink bacteria

Robin Ouzman Hislop’s numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina),  The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems  All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems. A translation from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae, the award winning (X111 Premio César Simón De Poesía), in November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference  hosted by the University of Leeds. UK.  A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020.

You may visit Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)