outside, gray skies
gray streets
gray gradient dopplers of swooshing cars
inside same gray
excesses the night before
leaving ashes where motivation should lie
hate to leave on a gray wave
or gray way
how does one melt these pewter talismans down
their leaden enchantments
using a glowing splinter
taken from the paw
of a creature made of fire
which owes me a debt
as best I can remember
… a gray wave and gray day probably spawned from a
haunting poem
I learned in elementary school, though I don’t know from where. It
went like this:
A green little chemist
On a green little day
Mixed some green little chemicals
In a green little way.
The green little grasses
Now tenderly wave
O’er the green little chemist’s
Green little grave.