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Index of titles

Amis amiss

Derrida’s teleology…

Faustina, Tour Guide, Regrets

Follow Me Down

Kingdom Come






Kingdom Come

Except it’s always

After sundown here, the place ostensibly

Our own republic, where a hanging

Dew diffuses nimbus-like round the pale

Evening wraith we designate

To represent us.

Yet it is just a ghost,

A last vestigial heat that emanates from us,

A notional being possessed of things

To measure with, and a map to draw round us,

Whose last dispatch is this final affirmation.

That explains its eviscerated public voice,

Denying that the things we are – borders, laws,

Institutions, sub-atomic particles, the whole political

Universe – are merely approximate.

First published in Turbulence, issue 9