Connecting Through Corona

THE SECOND SHADOW I stopped writing for a while and watched As the world started to believe itself better, Adapting itself to a normal, or variant of, Lizard like. Shedding a warped, older skin For scales unknown to flesh itself, or to justice, While suddenly foregoing a balance that no prize Or pigment could ever truly justify , or make right. I have worked, been away, and considered the acid Changes in others, from masks to mayhem as we Stumble and slide far from sense. People seem More different each day; Coronic Body Snatchers; Successfully slowed, even slyer, as if enforced Distance had managed to somehow reshape, Or strengthen, or even reinvent past pretence. The illness has engendered a void in which fell Both purpose and direction, as we take up the reins Of wild horses, who may bolt and cast us off, as death Looms. Or rather, mask all the more, as I certainly Can’t breathe while I wear them - on an empty train, Or,

CUMMING BACK, or THE DRAGONS STAY DARK If we were to fully question our saints would those Who follow faith lose their bearings? For, unknown To many, there is a soul slicked stain to bright wings. The Order of Saint Michael and Saint George is one Of England’s prized medals, given to those working Abroad who deliver what this disillusioned isle sought To bring. At the centre of its star sits a small enamel Painting of the aforementioned Saint Michael stamping On the neck of a black man, the Devil of course, To white eyes that fill with the froth of insanity And importance, not to mention the evil of a history Authored and torn by their lies. Such lies fuel The heart of this much deceived country, as England Becomes its own form of contagion, or cancer, through The colonial shame of its past. And which we now see Repeat through the racism that would claim us, As the former dragon opponents serve approved forces Who are there to su

IN REPLY Walking in the street yesterday, a man and his wife Near pushed themselves into a wall to avoid me, Doubling back, I observed them do the same thing To a boy on a bike passing by. It wasn’t the movement So much, as the attitude that informed them. ’If you want To avoid others,’ I countered while passing, ‘wear a mask!’ Only to hear his mocking and passive aggressive ‘Have a nice day!’ in reply. Such are the wars we now Fight, and not just with the climate. For the true divisions Have opened, as if you could incur some form of paper Cut on your soul. People have proved themselves thin Despite the pressing weight of precaution, where everyone Outside of your – what used to be called circle, now bubble – Are potential threats, not of Covid, but to what the seeming Status Quo tries to hold. Which is exactly what, two weeks On, as we ease ourselves backwards into freedom? Filling the shops while maintaining predestined exit rout