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1983-2015
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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