And in the furthest reaches of my brain I heard a bell sound and a voice, stark with intensity:
Here I lay
Struck cold by a van
On the motorway.
Still and quiet
Like a dead bird or rabbit
Though getting hit by cars
Is not in my habit.
I turn and wave
As each new one
Passes me by
Bits of bone
Bits of flesh
Blowing from tarmac
Got proper stuck from A to Z
So chucked the roadmap instead
Drive on or walk on
There’s nothing left to see
Abandoned dogs listen
I promise them:
We shall run again
Good fortune favours the brave, or so ‘they’ say
But it seems pretty accidental to me…
The tragedies and travesties of far away,
Edge ever closer and then just slip and slip into the sea.
How many times can we stand to be shocked
Before a real evolution occurs?
How many rockets and bombs need to be dropped
Before a working method can be spurred?
Between the unmoving history of opposing forces
And the salient fixtures of pride, race and God
And the million messages from a million different sources
There is a different road waiting to be trod.
And between staring at the screen and writing shared notes
That condemn the present in regard to the upcoming news,
A certain kind of fortune is offered by chance.
A humility that can exist to bruise.