England Evening Poem by CM Crockford

This is the time
I move into the bloom of isolation:
a cruel friend, gaunt, sated.
The night is sharp cold.
I wonder if I look sinister in passing.
Long coat looming, lips pursed,
Broken eyes, black hair.
Blacker than coffee,
Blacker than moonless skies.

I'm beautiful in the mirror.
But who knows what I am
In this other world?

The streets are eternal.
The headlights of cars are sparks.
These castles, these ziggurats -
Cold, brittle.

I feel their dissonances inside.
I see them twist and distort in the past,
This primal place -
Stuck down,
Deep.

Alone
I watch the world seem to shape itself to my personalities,

This dark land (My Land)

That knows no other inhabitants.