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Unfuturistic

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2018

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Secret promise, that in secret

Speaks against Prophecy Major,

Of collision between story,

History, and time and arrows

Thereof. Things will get more like songs,

Like TV. All narrational

Media. ‘I’ll feel real again.’

Brain splits again. Brain’s no one’s now.

But the arc’s and who’s the arc? No

One’s who. Bicameral notice

Comes from a satellite above

Planet Light-Colour-Matched-to-Mood

And says wipe eyes, blink, and answer

A one-shoed man asking for news,

Tell him it’s as beautiful as. 

‘What is?’ Say city is. At night.

Glisten up and weep Atlantis

And the waters sink, ancient nerves

Iced red — and break.

A full stop, two

Empty pages.

blank, noticeless

Now breath descends

Beside shoulders.

wet, colourless 

Where am I and

Why aren’t I dead?