Friday, 17 May 2013

Fragment of a loss

A Loss

Our reaction tells us what is not

What is the what which is that which is dropped

We map a route over and around these temporary permanencies

Which is the thing that is that which is stopped

Holding tight onto the lines that trace the relief of exile and embrace,

Firewall across temple entrance blocked

Settlement and disruption; and no messiah to shift the boulders, just bulldozers

Of detail, these streets of family, feud and fealty, wear their experience

While these plains of false refuge shimmer with the delirium

The roamers line toward the sunrise, gung ho gun toters riding

Whilst the wrapped shepherds appear still moving, in this reality they are redlighted, past their event horizon

History spirals, collapsing timings, closing on itself,

Cities of the Night emerge from dream into text into flesh on sand building brick on brick, until the architects are in the red

The balance sheet asks, and paper tells

Dry as the sides of these vacant wells

And there is no carpet to sweep it under

Save the sky that covers all

No necessity

Just desert floor, steel boots, fatigues and weaponry

Never Quite Still

Never quite still

A rivulet, blinding, thin, wrapped to asphalt ground around

Islands of green shoot

The branches tickle the midday air

The dead just stare

my 12 o’clock shadow points the way home

at the crossroads of the permissible and the forbidden,the sacred and the profane

the outpost and the empire

the animal and the machine

chatter, grunt, click, buss, flap

the flocks in the pen and those on the hillside

in the hutch and in the battery don’t know the difference

between the hum, the rubber and the needles

sits a single flower, quivering

red with a blue heart

not unique but the first

a precedent in my day