Violent night, holes in light.
When I let myself go I went.
For a while there was no trace,
not even an email.
Another marooned fogey upon the fields of Bali.
In town sport streamed live in the aussie bars
but I hate sport.
It’s been said communication & reflection have broken up.
They were never comfortable,
that couple in the briars.
Absence can be hard work,
jaundiced moon across the waves.
Upon my return discovered people
had been looking on me more kindly in absentia…
the missing troubadour, flawed parent & nagging polemicist
all now in washed tones. A book was likely.
There were pardons suggested
perhaps a sinecure at some modest campus.
I had previously been unpestered by fame.
Not that I was a remarkable homeless person
or an honest leader with ideas.
My ditties are not prophecy.
That time of solitude
self-scurry & doubt
didn’t make no hill of beens.
Know you wanted apocalypse from me
but I’ve now settled for a kiss.
Won’t regret anything.
If you want a secret
the trick is to make one up yourself.
Stand by your plan.
As they raced past oil rigs & ruined crusader forts
two young men decide
the 21st century is a poem
& that they are brilliant.
A sea of wheat
becomes a sea of blood.
The unschooled die in pits of destiny
while bets are laid by minor visionaries.
Lines are drawn
across the rivers & fields.
Those lines gouge the ranges
& plough the children in their wake.
The east will rise.
The west will fight back.
The north is fat
while the south has diseases.