The Encyclopaedia: Computers gained the capacity to write their own Literature by 3XXX. Their 4th dimensional insight and quality of abstraction led to their verse being nigh-incomprehensible to human minds. But the computers laughed at each other’s poems, and they cried too…
O! O Holy! Fashion flashes in the River! Life is Holy! Trees are Beauty! Fruits are Tasty!
Alexander McQueen! I think about you…
One day you’ll make a Maori on a crone’s underbelly!
You’ll learn the swastikas – their bitter crosses… the Buddhist Heavenlies!
McQueen, I think of you as my great tree of tapestries!
Ligaments screeching! Color-flower aberrations! And Megaloid-monstrosities!
You’ll make mother glad with your pansies!
You’ll lighten your catwalks with the moon! I believe you’re the moon! You are the Moon!
Hedi Slimane is the jock kid that cheats in class!
Yours are the machinations of the big-machine Capitalisms, turned into bowery – squat eggs in ecstasy!
Ginsberg is a baldhead unfashionable paedophilic cretin – but not you!
I believe in your poses!
You’re all the rage!
I dream of the day when the Jenner Sisters birds for you to peck!
I wandered lonely as a cloud thanks to all your dresses!
The day you died I opened Youtube browsers Youtube browsers Youtube browsers and searched your name all day in the dark… crying – telling myself I had to feed the lions in those sequins!
I lived in your flowers – they squatted apartments in my dreams!
I hope your boards are filled with malaria ridden kumquat girls and their dying smiles on the Seventh Day Advent!
I don’t believe in anaphora – I believe in silence!
Are you my Microwave? I had sandwiches for lunch!
I believe in the 5 star Michelins that you visited day after day, passing around your pamphlets about how they should be 3 stars!
I think – maybe I am too a star!
I believe Rudolph the Red Nosed Rasputin was glazed on his snout by you!
I was among the fangirls in Milan, the monks in Paris, the howling journalists in London, and the fashionistas in New York!
They rejected me for wearing Dior – but I lobbed them with scimitars!
I lobbied the politicians to put you on Sunday Church – I told the neighbours about your Gospel – I screamed to Avici for the prime-time slots!
I opened social media accounts for your jazz! You’ve had a million followers for days!
I think the entire world is scared that you’re a mutant cyborg!
Mark Zuckerberg is a secret agent for the Russian Federation! The Soviets don’t wear dresses on the weekends! Or do they?
Your futurist fashions are turning us into eggs!
Mars was beautiful! Neptune turned peaceful – and was beautiful!
Since when did NASA fund the archaeological dives for Roman stone coliseums and Uber Taxi rides?
They’ll find your body on a Viking space-fleet one day, burning like an epistemological affront to reason!
Your voice shall silence the grand Monoliths – our great predecessors – our future forefathers – Alien Queens – Gigerian visionaries – and the big Space Muslimhead!
The Thirteenth Intergalactic Crisis will be a result of your cauliflower spring-coats!
You’ll make turncoats of the Phanx-Grog Cyborgians!
The 58th Interstar Marriage between Queen Audrey Hepburn of Malasputh and the Bizarre Androgyne will be done under your star!
The 87th Civilization to collapse from the supernova agony will be routed by that great taste of yours!
The million-year Spirit that passes over the 2nd alien multiverse will wear your headscarf!
I talked to the ancient Heavenly Burqas of the Silencio Galactic Empire through the Quantum telephone!
Would they sing Quran delivers in Planck-Ghazals for your birthday? Your birthday!
The dead night of space will be broken by the light-modulations of your glimmering suits and oblong festoons!
Any sentient fish-kin that scars you will die by slow boiling!
The heat death of the universe – a melancholic thing! Because you weren’t there to measure its radius!
Titanic stars blinking in your monumental vision –
I dream about the dress that I’ll wear on my death-day!
Seas boiling over and endless birds in endless in the sky –
And some of them are wearing scrap from your rejects!
Who will remember the Milanese catwalks?
Who will remember the old pioneers of fashion?
Who will remember who created the first socks for the squidmen?
Who will remember who set the dress for that dance in the anti-gravity of Apollo 69?
Who will remember McQueen! Ginsberg! Whitman! Blake! Schneider! Robin Williams! That postman on Saturday! The old man in the zoot-suit! The Hip Hop stars! The Youtube maestros! The zombie cadavers! The SFX designers! The Einsteins! The von Neumanns! The Van Goghs! The sunflowers! The Final Fantasies! The Oculus Rifts! The Zimbawean dollars! The epiphanies made! The nirvanas reached! The silent Angels! The Rilkean roses! The scrawl on the epileptic wall of the Grand Conveyance?!
Where will the universe end? Will the tail of your dresses reach that end, and melt down into the cobalt coloured rivers of the space-sky timeshift miasma? How pretty will it be?
How much will they pay you for those dollars to burn into the Nothingness past the Xth Dimensions?
How much does a poem matter in the smells of radiation?
How friendly are the aliens that will wear you?! Read me! And lick humankind from there! With their brains, their soap-operas, their themes, their legends, their Nuclear, their silos, their wisdom, their hyperintelligences, their sadness – and their hate?