As if lined Nazca will ever be deciphered
Geoglyphs were man-pressed passages –
a way to work out their god’s failed plan

among desert rocks & cracked ceramics
Cahuachi collapsed after deforestation –
as if a quiet prelude to our imminent ruin

By satellites [& drones] their paced paths
confuse all hypotheses & feed ignorance –
they growl with each dug hard exposure

of bone & cracked container holding only
air – will our remnants also crumble – will
we leave any account of why we declined?

My first body pumps coal blood –
strata – not veins – my black toxin
dug at by my antecedents & now
burning in our ravenous furnaces

My second body sucks stuff from
machined seams too deep to see
& bays for copper & tin heaved by
poorly-paid labour in toiled places

My third body will not take painful
slights of air or sunlight’s touches
& will only feed on what remains –
toiled-thin soil & scarce resources

My fourth body will not know how
we managed to f*ck it up – just so
My second body will be disgraced
by a dragged out record of shame

My third body will not be able to fix
such avarice – a beneficiary of less
& will worry more than I’ll impress
upon my fourth – my nefarious self

I will loosen four circles –
four can yokes/four loops

Four collars – four nooses
or four buoyant garrots as

a fifth still holds them all –
no – I will not save our sea

It took one of my forebears
off Sunderland’s cold shore

whilst my father was pulled
underneath for days & days

in submarines – an unnatural
act – a voluntary Mr Bartley?

Whilst my five rips will never
keep any ocean or turtle free

from tugs of alcohol – instead
I will get drunk again & recycle