Paul Stanway
Extremely eloquent ways of saying virtually nothing beyond the obvious, that we are, sooner or later, doomed.
FUTURE'S STATIC DOCUMENT
Sonnet
Unroofed, my heart's arrhythmic and target
Encircled. The clouds are rotten, plaster things
Crumbling a grey mist, fingered. Up I drift
Past all the copters - the sects surveilling
My sense for rent. Parallax, a reversed
Me unfolds: Prison Street sounds. I'm wailing
Free, as the fist clacks down . . .
September 15, 2017
