The latest version of me
is wondering how to feel at the end of this chain.
It’s like sitting in an open boat,
with my brain in a cage, it takes real discipline
to be so fantastically alone.

It is hard to think of poetry
while this menace hangs in the air,
so many tragedies in the making,
with the inability to huddle for comfort,
and share the news.

It all seems too ruthless,
our world full of heavy steps
and tragic shapes coming from all angles.
I don’t expect clarity,
in the sense of explanation,
but perhaps transparence,
or something to break the silence.