Grey Lonely

Forget cellar doors, a porch light in fog

is the most beautiful thing, perhaps

not in phrase–but that was always a lie

anyway, because we all know

that thrall hides behind

heavy wood, and glass shards,

forceful thrusting, and deep cuts.

In darkness, in fog, everyone

is beautiful, says drivel.

Feel forces. Two trees stand

in grey lonely, reaching but untouched.

By sameness, and in the dark,

we are all reaching, seeking, finding

broken beds and broken spirits.


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