Sunday, 20 July 2014

Wednesday the 16th of July

Radio switched on and switched off and switched on again

They were on the beach when it happened
and when I heard I laughed (I laughed)

and then has-been lips make a reddish ring
and eyes are see through soft with chemic trembling

Some people (it is said) do like to watch

What is that colour of sky

imagined a tape full of Jesus songs chewed up

This is the ersatz me in the kitchen

It is too hot

There were four of them playing on the beach when

I want it to stop


  1. Very moving poem, Duncan.

    This is what all human beings want, now -- for the racist genocide to stop.

    The problem lies, I fear, with all those other curious simulacra of human beings, to whom, it is apparent, these horrific events are actually bringing, gods forbid, a certain satisfaction.

  2. re "all those other curious simulacra of [satisfied] human beings"--of course, they never want it to stop.

    Fine poem, Duncan.

  3. Thank you, both.

    We're coming to the end of the week and the "curious simulacra" are still hard at it. Unbearable.

  4. Perhaps it's merely sleep deprivation compounded by failing vision, but I first read "coming to the end of the week" as "coming to the end of the world".

    Whichever happens first...