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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Silent in its violence the sun lays ancient fire-fingers on the heat-scoured concrete of the promenade: boxy seafront chalets tilting and creaking at angles, scorched, salt-stiffened gardens, sand dunes, a screaming blue sea. It is so difficult to accept a loss, a deprivation. Innocence flaps its winding sheet behind me, its mummy cloth of myth. As from an isolated moon I see the first cold breaker rush to engulf me - an underwater undulance, undercurrents of menace, of malice. The sand-strewn strand stretches into infinity, shimmering with the visions, the voices, the echoes, the faceless departments of government and society. I watch the insouciant people around me, they possess a flatness, like blank paper. They hump and lug plastic picnic paraphernalia, ridiculously, all beach grime and blistered backs, reduced to a red cindery glow. Ice creams, scooped from the freezers in trinkety seashore shops, are clutched in sunburnt hands. They are spreading striped sunbathing mats, snide and smiling slyly. Is it a mirage, a delusion, dredged from the desert-dry air? The air snags in my throat: the flat summer stench of warm wood, sun lotion, billowing cotton - blank but expansive. The creaking, the flapping. A strange wind howls and banters in my ear and the train shrieks through its station, the station of my brain - a riddled red abyss, poker-hot. The sun is sinking - a disc of fire, a blood clot. Water floods the ridgy shallows, eddying into treacherous pits. The black gun muzzle of my mouth blasts the oxygen from the air. My nerves a hive of wires suffering the scarlet atrocities. Pokers put out my eyes. Squeezed by the forceps of agony I see nothing, there is nothing but a mirage of wavering dunes closing in and the sea splintering; a multitude of glass glittering.
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