BH Fairchild on a Decaying World
If you want to envisage better times, read the great poets
A midday sun sets me squinting at your book.
It’s a world away from my own life—
a history of muscular Americana
men working with lathes, enjoying
basketball in their spare time.
You write the mundane like an angel.
I pick up the grain of another culture.
The Blue Buick is companion to a balcony
siesta & a spring day — it’s thrusting turbines
countering a worsening entropic pull
away from tradition, a world you pen so well.
A world of men when there are few men left.
I seek the heights of freedom from all this
but a great web of gauze ties the world
like an unwanted present as if the gods
are fishing with an impenetrable net.
This body may never escape what’s coming.
Cling to the soul’s rocket — blast beyond the
thrall of the demiurge — remember how
your country was & could be again.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
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