To the why?

The grey stood still;

still as a lamp post.

The greyness was of a day

that smelt like furze encrusted mothballs.

My chips were cashed

but I was still at the table.

Nowhere to go from 

nearly down and fading out,

except maybe back to the 

knackers yard of a dream 

that I had been inhabiting for a 

while. Someone waited there,

covered in cling film 

on a bed of flowers.

The empty scent imbued on 

a clear spring sheet.

Its drops 

cold 

and full of weariness, 

stinking of old sleep;

where a dream's sail-by date

whooshed for all who wished

it wouldn't.

Unbeknownst to me 

I had now come and gone;

gone to the street

with its greyness

and denseness.

the unliftable bearing down

on all my tenses.

I crossed my arms

and stared at the sky.

I wandered home to the why?

Reviews

[Kerry O'Connor]

Again, you have caught me up in the loops and twists of the words and the lines. I wonder if it has been all a dream...