Your isolation could be worse
Time vanished like a podcast curse
To live the life I feel and trust
A smashed up Jupiter’s core of rust
Dragged by your magnetic pull
Sucked back into Earths brutal prison rules
I listen to your scant emotions
When I could be in your awesome kitchens
With the piles of dope and the tins of booze
The devil’s whispered voice will make you choose
Flowing currents craze your mindful balance
Stimulated to accept your tired talents
So bound up with ropes and chains
Children wired on sugar in their brains
Like a speeding bullet down the Watford Gap
Whizzing headlong into a trap
© Sean P. Ransom 27/3/2020