Monday, 19 November 2012

Song without Words

We live in a time of universal peace 
expressed by murder. There is nothing
paradoxical in this, as Professor
Bradley Strawser of the Monterey
Naval Postgraduate School has explained. (1)

For one night, S, return.
Your nut brown blond body
from sunbathing on the roof overlooking
the city. Your sun blue and moon faded
dress, your red plastic sandals,
calling out to the people below:
“Are you happy?” Your voice not carrying.

The world’s governance can best be described
as business-financial-military-
political-technical-long distance
super meat cleaver. There is no agony.
There is no night. Utopia is a brand
name for body armour.

One more night, S, as well as that other one more night.
You, knees up to your chin, quietly in the kitchen,
reading about Ruskin on Turner on clouds.
The weather has broken, rain comes down in fiery rods,
but tomorrow London will be dry and hot and clear (1985.
Your 25th birthday).

There's a voice from somewhere. "It’s me"
Says the fifth creature. "I've been to sea!
I’ve discovered a new history, a
different life for you. But you’re the last
person I’ll ever tell. Though I will, at last."


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