after… Clive James
tired of reading novels from the future
and understanding none (which
is my privilege and duty)
the maps in my eyes fade
into the earth they simulate
I choose to rename those things
provisional
precarious
transitory, which
still persist
(I assume you can
read Heidegger
on this
a wheelie bin
fanfare in the wings
the glass between us
slewed and slow
the light takes years to pass)