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
Very moving poem, Duncan.
ReplyDeleteThis 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.
re "all those other curious simulacra of [satisfied] human beings"--of course, they never want it to stop.
ReplyDeleteFine poem, Duncan.
Thank you, both.
ReplyDeleteWe're coming to the end of the week and the "curious simulacra" are still hard at it. Unbearable.
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".
ReplyDeleteWhichever happens first...