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tearing the rag off the bush again
A poem by Marc Vincenz PDF E-mail

For the Shadow Council


history has no future   it’s more testament than tenacity  

more tenement than transience


an illusion of Earth standing on its head  


like the old codger who collects  

in the underpass connecting   

and the late cars squawking overhead


and what of the rusty cup and the mangy dog?


obligatory for a man who fights for poems by firelight


and she

never once reincarnated  


she who smells of forgetfulness and TV dinners


she who carries the cart to the hypermart for dented cans and cold cream  


and he  

he with the scar under his left eye  


the crew-cut and the crescent and teardrop tattoo  

always crying to the moon  

always ready to die


and on the way home to the other side  

where beer was once served lukewarm


she    another she   

carries the touch of men’s hair and fingers


filaments of inbreeding breathing through layers and skins


reeking of old men’s fables  

of survivors and war heroes


and though their ghosts have vanished


shadows still drag behind like bats


transmuting along the corridors


swooping above flagpoles

lining the concourse

with their indelible silence

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