Something
Grey
The hinter-scrape of laundromat quarters,
chipping brick paint on draw curtain
windows smeared of blue sky memoir,
notions remaining from faded haunt
as I pen-fritter in tumults endless,
reflection shattered on rain-slick graffiti.
When I draw string-pointed circles
on cheapened matte substance, they
form in blackened felt scratches,
unintended as they are to make the
same struggled overheat of mind,
to make the pointilist facade
of skies robbed of afternoons' light
you brought.
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