DAY THIRTY – Paul Summers

no change given

the news is no less shit
when wrapped in sun

the taste of loss still
sour as an unripe plum

a hemisphere can’t shift
the weight of death

or else of dying
hope face down

& drowned again
in puddles of infernal

spring & me still waiting
on lenin’s slow train

alone & forlorn & in
the grip of northern rain

april’s thesis
still unproclaimed

jerusalem postponed
our flags left maimed

no chink of paltry light
to grace our days

all vigour subjected
to unspecified delays



Paul Summers is a Northumbrian poet who has been living in tropical central Queensland for the last four and a half years. Latest publications are Primitive Cartography & union : new & selected, both from Smokestack.


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