De[s]cent

It feels unwell turning from friends
as if they are not responsible or to
be trusted – all our rules are re-set …/

It feels unwell turning from friends
as if they are not responsible or to
be trusted – all our rules are re-set/

My kids gather outside my house –
delivering care in scouted carrier
bags of love – expressed with veg/

Aircraft timbre is now uncommon –
instead swards vibrate to song – as if
Nature has re-taken a layer from us

But it will not last – still we will sour
running ditches with farming drugs
as we brabble to be overfed/ & on &

on we crawl [not quite in reverse] not
yet that slouch back down our chart –
primate – to rat – then slid primaeval/

There are empty benches at sunrise
& I take my seat as terrors sleep/ It
may pass [nb something’s changed]