Neubooterdammerung, 2: Paul Summers

In den finsteren Zeiten,

wird da auch gesungen werden?

Da wird auch gesungen werden.

Von den finsteren Zeiten.

Bertolt Brecht

& on the eighth day

there was darkness

again. even darker

than the last time

but not a patch on

the next if you believe

that weird, little god-nik

fucker at the monument.

darker than that time

you gaffer taped my eyes.

darker than that night

we hammered the poitín

in davy’s da’s shed & you

bit off the ears of his sister’s

classroom gerbil. darker

than the entire contents

of johnny cash’s wardrobe.

darker than the core of an

overlooked verruca. dark

as fuck, apart from a pulse

of weak, pale light emitted

in the west from the burnt-out

convoy of overturned police-vans

currently blocking all six lanes

of the A1(M) in both directions,

& from jimmy upstairs, who has

somehow rigged an old black

& white portable to a car-battery

so he can watch attheraces

completely unimpeded by events

of global significance, & your

slightly eccentric, europhile

neighbour; the one with the nice

job & the buy-to-let mortgage,

engaged in an act of quiet immolation

there in the back-lane, precariously

close to our wheelie-bin. apart from

all that though, it’s dark as fuck.

much darker than the last time,

not a patch on the next.


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