first thought
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the arteries of the ness were
brought to a standstill by the
sheer weight of blackberries
an abundance of shocking ripeness
picked and eaten
the peculiar aromatics of some
percentage of the berries
the presumable product of a
great atomic past
the wind atop the bomb ballistics building was
fierce as a lover
and tried to undress
me as a lover might
drew violent song from steel
the lighthouse too would be gone like
all the past
next year or the next
into the sea
the shingle, the land with it
the keeper's chapel building in white
on the very edge bore just
firelighters and cobwebs
while around it the world gave way
from the piled shingle
like alien flora
rusted metal rose a twisted reach
the ghosts of the old laboratories
creaked and yelped
iron assemblies swallowed by
mounded beach
in long dark anterooms where
once lights burnt, ancient computers
the instruments of the post-war effort
now the place was run amok
with legacy
and it was wind and land that made memory
and the ness itself
a living terrain that consumed
its history by change
those hints that lingered
of things man had done
dwarfed by the enormity of
all they weren't and hadn't
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