One Month Later

One month later, the rucksack
Is still not unpacked, my backlog
Of poetry and fiction still digital,
Untranscribed to hand, dreams
Left to moulder in sterile boxes
Of electrics.

The multiples of meaning in
Content have narrowed down
To a single product, where life
Drowns art in a flood of
Necessary, where the air is
Frigid with duty.

The wind on this insignificant
Slab of soil in the North Sea
Is a frozen scream of despair
As the island sinks under the
Weight of intolerance and
Economic doom.

There are words still to be
Formed and fomented in that
Unemptied bag, battles yet
To be won or lost, a frozen
Sun to be thawed by some
Kind of change.

R 07/08/2023 07:31