Light variations at the bomb museum

By | 1 August 2021

I heard the footsteps again, you know who it was.
The fish tank inhabited by a strange artwork.
There was nobody home to explain, we waited.
I remember tampering with the core and the first stage of fission,
a hollow impact orphaned from history.

Polished white concrete and conditioned air.
An atmosphere ecclesiastic. An impossible heat
and futuristic toilet facilities, supine tourists, black rain.
An exit the opiate of jargon and the
difference between then and now,

igneous rock like mirror. Nothing to intercept
nothing to the horizon, wastelands of artefact.
A sinister experiment in my underground laboratory.
The jet streams magnesium pink being pulled to the sun.

More colours to the desert,
a calcified giant from dead myth. A daring
and most ingenious project: the curve of the wall from which
an osprey tips. Far below an angel submits to hypothermia.
Voters may form false memories
after seeing
fabricated stories.

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