The sky was swollen
grey,a thought of fog,
later,in the darkness,
crouched
in the cusp
of his reverie.
Turning
his eyes from the dying
atmosphere, he poured
a pale drink between lampless
bell jar walls,
knowing that the liquor
would be thin
insulation against long hours
scrapping darkness
and the movement westward.
YOU ARE READING
Small Silver Fish
PoetryA growing work of poetic exploration,this small volume explores life long struggles of a poet groping for evolution.
