Superheated air streams in
Through the driver-side window as I burn the car
Across the blistering heat, exhuming Ian Curtis's
Pompeian corpse from deep within my past.
So long forgotten, so long unused –
The Eternal procession in the heat of July.
My aging car flashes warning lights
Into the corner of my eyes,
Through nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon
Away from the coast, far from the sea.
And open sky grey with searing smoke
From wildfires in Spain, 500 miles east.
All is dry as white is bone.
The air around unbreathably hot
I roll past parched brown soil
Hissing clumps of sickly cabbage
Brambles laden with shrivelled berries
Scattered black among brothels and slums
Decaying filaments of
Blunt bleaching houses
Rot fast in the fiery sun
In whose fire..
Hot hot sky, the leaden glow of end.
Sixty-four I am.
Through nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon. How long,
How long must I sing this song?
In nowhere-scapes east of Lisbon.
Will you still need me
When I'm seventy-four
In the superheated air
