petercowlam

                    

Index of titles

poems


 

Amis amiss

Derrida’s teleology…

Faustina, Tour Guide, Regrets

Follow Me Down

Kingdom Come

Scholia

Sci-fi



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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