I just can't bring myself to
embroider this grey stillness, quietude
fit to convey over backyard distance
antiphons of dog-bark.
There is nothing within me today
to bounce off the straggle-twigs
awaiting April
or off the low cloud-lid
smothering even a hint of glare.
I have no angle on my own solitude today,
neither resentment nor loneliness:
fuel for the former's far away in time
and, latterly, we seem to subsist
on text / Skype windows, as we must for now.
North Korea fired another five somethings out
into the Japan sea. I learned today
how Indonesians cage their mentally-ill;
there is enough disgust in me to pass that on.
Notice how the fattest pigeons sit
on the smallest of twigs;
perhaps they enjoy the resilience or
the balancing challenge of their sprung perch.
