Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Fire engines racing into smoke,
twisted metal concealing
invisible hands which reach out
from the powerless station.
Survivors pick through heaps
of matchwood houses,
human debris spreads out
in a chilled sports hall,
hand in hand
a tear stained nation waits.

Change channel.

Tracer lights up the desert sky again.
Something dark cruises
through the thickening air.
A white flash marks the spot
where the earth shakes and burns.
Come the dawn
roads are choked,
skeletal tanks, refugees
heading for the borders.

Change channel.

Consulting room,
x-ray on screen,
still, small voice explaining
the shadow of a man
who has been.

Change channel.

Static, all that remains
of that first blinding light.
One by one the stars wink out
preparing for an endless night.

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