Tuesday, 27 June 2017

A Poem In Grey

Voices from below, metal on metal
the aroma of coffee, the beige foam
black tide and a soft breeze
waves a grey flag.

Grey flag, white dust - obscures,
paints faces and coats and no-one knows
- from this distance
just who’s side you’re on.

Dust, parched and cracked lips,
the dry sand shuffle and lurch
as an electronic sun blazes, circles
and the sky flickers.

Grey hair no more, the burgundy carpet
on a floor that’s never quite still

the ring on her finger, tyre tread pattern
silver on black, snakeskin sidewinder
forward and back

back into the past,
past with a pano-technicolour-rama 

forward and back

and the dark is full of colour

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