About not knowing what to write

April 2nd, 2020 § 0 comments

Here we enter a bit of a mishmash of posts: A poem on a lonely country


Here I am in a lonely country

the streets are not my friends

nor are those two dishevelled men I just saw (one thin, one too old to describe)

who are coming to meet me –

with pleading? with menace?

Who are you I say, it’s a sort of question

Here where questions seem to be a bit too difficult or too

direct. I don’t know what I might expect them to answer.

And indeed, they don’t, looking sideways as if to emphasise

how alone we are, each of us.

Self-isolation is a word which encompasses my loss

My loneliness; enforced, And which shows that I’m not talking

about a condition of my own; but one which, right now,

Is on, is over all of us. Who imposed this on me?

Why is this lonely landscape, with its dreadful inventions

all around? The thin man seems to be crying.

In fact, I think he can’t contain some sort of terror



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