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It writes itself

Generalised commotion
a scramble for pens
a phenomenon no for real

it's in our laps
well the sky
"the sky our lap"
that's a good one
write that down

it's like a bat signal
for dreadful poems
let's check in on one

"A red sun gifted by Ophelia"

that's one of the lines, I
imagine all over the country
poets diving for a metaphor

unseasonable winds, too, that
helps, uh, um, weird weather
looks a bit like an apolcalypse?

Oh, I don't know
something about brexit?

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