It was as if I had crashed out
waking to find nothing had changed.
Do they not weary?
this circumambulation of faces
smeared across the bowl of the screen:
a cavalcade of the grotesque
stirred into a broth
to serve faithful and faithless alike.
Follow me to the cliff edge
and we'll dance with the rocks
in the chalk white of the evening suds:
a blessed libation, for to cleanse
the dismal soul of England.
We fall. And we fly. And we fall again.
Jump cut sunday slopers filing
back in through the out door.
It's all back and no stop, wail voices off
as the forgotten folk in their pea green boat
drift out of sight and out of mind
pips on the hour that bring us to heel
keep the horizon out there
where the mist starts to trace
a reverie of home
spun into dust.
Let us all join hands as we gather on the sands
to chant down the terrible curse of the gif
and should the video break free
we'll fast forward to see
the broken carriage of our becoming.
© Les Roberts 2016. All Rights Reserved.