9th March 2009

Oh here.
Running along
the lonely bricks that fly.
The green that encompasses
     through the dim glass.
A red bag, on a step.
Holds little meaning to those around.
The wet footprint
     piecing together the fragments
     of a rainy day.
I’m waiting for the sun to come out.
An old tan shoe,
     toppled over the edge.
Going down.
The rattle of the external;
     internally, the slow hum.
A dreamless sleep,
a thoughtless ride.
The green to yellow and the sudden
     whisper of a duplicate.
A phone, amongst all gloom.
The ending note on the ceasing of the
     hum and a jolt and the
     monotonous lines that run on the
     rocks.
The melody of a piano
     in pure green, hiding the immaculate
     black.
There’s nothing else to do.
A light, switched off.
Alight. For some unknown destination.
An everlasting.
The cold cable, exposed to cold air
     a voice, common, twice,
     the roll of a door.
The ramble, as it keeps going.
The steps, they fly,
     through a tunnel of dark,
past another set of monotonous lines and the bland colour of
     the rocks.
In pure light.
It’s better I know
     the unwarm buzz.
A halt.