Image for the poem only my heart is not in isolation

only my heart is not in isolation

Tracing the burglars’ route:
Oh so quiet streets
Aborted-fucking alleys,
Slumped junkies
Who would inject corona.

Homeless man burns away
The love he ever held for the world
A match strikes a for(f)ever
Midnight of his mind.

The roundabouts
Are empty of traffic.

Some story is closing
Round circular tale,
Eternal serpents
Whisper a doing
That never stops.

The Guardian may merrily say:
We look to graffiti for the
Language we use –
Terry hearts June
Buzzards of sprayed paint
Flicker from train flight
Urban hieroglyphics
On hollow concrete
Cinders of Alexandria Library
Will en flame and cremate us.

We write o’er evening arch
Sat on oak'ed balustrade
As trembling blue stars
On terrace edge:
Bones splinter against cliff,
Tremulous words finally,
Found in translation.

It was always
God willed
Meant to be this way?

You are so far,
So near
I can taste
All of you.


Pic. Social media news
Written by Strangeways_Rob
Author's Note
#Umanoid. I usually content with a near hermit existence, but the fear permeating the earth, is unsettling. Almost tangible. With you I walk XX STAY SAFE ALL.
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