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

4 comments:

  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.

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

    Fine poem, Duncan.

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  3. Thank you, both.

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

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  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...

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