We will die on Earth in a hard dirty dust cloud,
on a day we now remember.
We will die on Earth – and we can’t run –
maybe a Tuesday, like today, towards the close of June.
Tuesday, because today, Tuesday, when I prose
these lines, we have forced our heads upright again
unwillingly and, never like today have we,
with all our road, seen ourselves so alone.
The human race is dead, we beat ourselves,
[and so many other plants and animals,]
without most of us doing anything to deserve it;
we got hit hard with a stick and hard
likewise with a rope; witnesses are
all the days and nights of the week and all our vertebrae,
the loneliness, the dust clouds, the roads. . .
More than nicely done
Posted by: Bob | 26.06.2020 at 11:13 AM