Amongst the ticking lines of bending metal

And beneath the rubbed out sky

I lie. Bright humming of bank-

Side benches and lost cafes

Match the uneven rhythm

Of my eyes, and theirs,

That watch my sprawling self climb.

Higher to the earth.


Hard curves and distant cries close any

Distance left and sanity gives up,

For me, its pretty reign,

As fingers guide the storm.

No glowing spots or shivered bite

Shall now so block my way.

Few words to live, few words tonight,

The sky and I shall stay.

© grace.b 2023
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Strong images conjuring up many different ideas about the meaning, I especially liked the second line ‘rubbed out sky’. Sue.

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