My grandad fought at the Battle of Kohima (Burma) in 1944. I've written this as a memorial to him (Ted Hoban).
What a marvel is ancient man!
tangled propagation delayed to the end
the divine sepulchre of life, tennis court
overrun, bayoneted and shot
extreme separation anxiety
in dying or isolated from the body
when pernicious lists are dry springes – when prefixed mourning
counting toward gestures of weird bread/wine ignore the recognition of absence,
the suffering of absence. A petrified destination so dark it’s not like sleep,
Austere black as anaesthetic, but
One null device unannealed ignobly saturated in foreign rain
will be no more string, strategically and in the light
miss you to would miss you