When this thing sploshed down
upon the earth
like a blob of icky egg white,
many of us were snared in it
like flies in a spider web
panicking, gasping, in frenzy
until we surrendered
in sheer exhaustion
to the unseen predator.

and when everything ground to a halt,
some of us took to cycling,
or to jogging or walking.
some walked away silently
into the all-round twilight.

My pen has kept writing through it all,
scrawling upon paper sheets,
chronicles of my own insanity.
Maybe I'll read them out to you
one of these days, my love,
if i don't crumple the sheets
and throw them away.
Or maybe i won't,
because what he writes
may seem insane to you as well.