Spiralling

There was once a time when the planet only had a few dosen nations

Now there's 7.8 billion

Each with it's own alternative history

With it's own language

It's own policies of defense

It's own economy

Hidden behind impenetrable walls

In an era where channels of transmission proliferate

Communication is corroding faster than ice sheets

All sense melting into nonsense

Its gyre spiralling around me like an adder

I don't wish to fall out of my sky

Where is the falconer