Some Kind of Simulacrum

1 June 2013

‘There’s a man with a bomb
somewhere on the train.’ Even
swallows of the city sent from
their flight with all the
commuters of late-afternoon
locked-down & out
from these vestigial hours.

No-one joins the dots iPhones notwithstanding a
technical they say malfunction only
immobilized at the red-lights so close to
the stopping-point of this long long way
home.
No-one warned it could end like this
a maddie running loose crank-spanner
in the works chased down through the
tunnel of tin-houses by a SWAT team
of 8 running semi-automatic weapons
their marksmen sweating along behind.

Same as the movies it is the guns who star.
There oughtto be lights & camera hi-fi
surround we are
mere extras to the main gig
tomato-sauce on our faces war-paint for
unwaged foot-soldiers.
Afterwards the cops take all our details
as if intending surprise gifts sent to our front doors.
Not saying not risking the identity of the Great
Conspirator who takes it all away. Dead
or alive now in the phantom world?
Sirens without smoke birds
taken to smog-rings high above the melée
ambulance bomb-squad paramedic
more jobless than their prime-time stand-ins would be.

Another day in another place
body-parts thrown aleatoric
across the tracks.
Food for a thousand cameras;
the hunger eyes behind them.

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