an apparition
the time of aphorism is over
brutal has been brutalised
abroad the don’t know who
is doing don’t know what
and the hand of aphorism is twisted
it no longer turns the keys to the works
the cogs are stuttering to a standstill
our stares are distant indeed
they no longer focus on anything
for the end is beginning and we fear for everything
now that the uplifting winch is broken
the weakest link is all of them now
there are ditches without lips to reach
no stars to look up upon down the
inches becoming miles in sliding
no brakes to slow our fall
and bugger-all a poet can say
will do bugger-all
at all
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