These are times of unmaking
systems fall into disrepair
entropy has her way
birds fall from the skies
buds freeze, curled tight
their potential never sprung
socks and gloves
fall out with their mates
leave without saying goodbye
things fall apart
clocks stop
dishes break
the mirror shows
only empty spaces
and faces without hope
These 55 words are for Joy at Verse Escape, where she carries on the grand tradition of the G-man.
In Other Words 
Ah Mary–I feel the emptiness that comes with these lines, the loss, the puzzlement… I think you put your finger on why it is so hard and painful right now for many people to write or create–it’s a time of unmaking, of watching things fall apart, be destroyed, and making seems pointless. The socks and gloves image is particularly poignant. It’s always good to see you at the 55, Mary, and to read you. Thanks for playing.
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Thank you Joy. You’re a beacon in dark times.
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She is, isn’t’ she?
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I agree with Joy about the socks and gloves image, and you’ve thrown a bit of Yeats into the widening gyre as well. I think many many of us feel just this way these days.
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I started typing something about the socks and gloves, when I noticed Coalblack had already said it. The sense of tearing is that strong, mates becoming one against their will, things breaking… so much loss.
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You present a list of stark images, easy for your readers to tick off. As a whole, I am left with a sense of futility. What does it all mean?
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Yes. I’ve been writing pretty much like this since the election.
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