Whatever Happened To That Novel I Was Writing ?

What did happen to that novel
that I was supposed to be writing ?
You know earnestly like Vargas Llosa
or maybe Orwell or even CJ Sansom ;
Where has it gone and what shall
ever become of it ?
That novel of mine that child
of my intellectual loins ?
The one due to be set in South America ,
that mystery centred around the enigma
of a photograph ?
a cast of characters waiting forever
in a quasi-existential limbo for
a completion, an ending of the narrative
which now no longer appears capable
of dramatic resolution ?
A coup d’etat based on the
catastrophic events of a precursor 9/11 ,
the eleventh of September in Chile 1973 ;
an amalgam of malignant conspiracies
involving foreign corporate interests
and venal power seeking indigenous demagogues ;
the torture the suffering the chaos ,
pretence ,lies ,bloodshed and betrayals ,
and here am I their author,
Progenitor in Excelsis
who has abandoned that particular project ;
it is all now nothing more
than a boarded up store front
over which a faded sign swings in the breeze
like a prisoner on the gallows.

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