Monday, December 14, 2009

and here follows an excerpt from the written poetry, from part 2:

There are rumours in the pipeline poison gas
has got away and all emergency services
in divisions, have come to evacuate
bodies and souls from a risk too great
that he is not to be permitted to stay
they come wearing gas masks inside airtight
white plastic suits; he is tied into a mask
and is promptly wheeled out, they broke
through his back door, always the easiest
they tell him across electronic laughs

Two metre thick reinforced concrete walls
up against earth's ancient dry sandstone
ten floors below ground under a building
fifty two levels high, so highly stressed
it will take off like a rocket launched
to space without making a hole; we are told.

He wonders what the book bound poets are saying
on polished hard pine shelves alone in the cold poison night

and alone will they barricade
against looters who enter
broken back door homes?

He needs a cold shower to reset his head, trip-switch needs
of electronic brains making intelligent chatter, human
minds saying little else.

On arrival at the site
mode set indicators go blank
feedback failure in a hole
lost in ground, no earth

Must he say it all again?

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