[New-Poetry] Crash

[David Bircumshaw]

Think this might be a poem. Opinions anyone?

CRASH

In the small hours, when the day's fullness had disappeared, looking round
for illusions of support,
with a sense of impending rust like a celebration of plaque, AutoPoet cast
about for a something we
might call substantia.

As in this is real as in this is not a shadow river as in yes You are and so
am I and that talking was
understanding we met on its plain.

But the sensors were off-line and the cellar AutoPoet was in was sinking
beneath his defunct treads
and besides which his batteries were no longer manufactured, obsolete They
cried, and the charge
was running low and a lecture on entropy was waiting at the buckled door,
delighted at its delivery,
while circumstances gathered in the corners, bright-eyed at possibilities of
come-uppance, We told
You so, they rehearsed their cry, and looking like a discontinued product,
maybe a washing
machine, of former purveyance, AutoPoet tried to shout: Told me what? And
why?

But vocal chords would not be plucked and silence became its own answer and
the floor collapsed,
rather drunkenly I regret to relate, not good form that, and the aforesaid
illusions (aka support)
proved

not to be there. Not there.

Crash.


best

Dave