The keys are depressed
to my depression

I wallow in the keys of syncopation

That drift down the scales to the lowest elevation

The hammers strike the strings of soul

Releasing the vibrations
that take control

I moan low as the notes pierce my heart

and the pain dribbles out
.
..
...

“where summer’s bronzes dull and sink”

the trees are like
wet coat hangers,
holding up the leaves,

my cat is frosty like
an october morn,
sleeping on the sill,

everything is dripping
like a wet pair of
jeans taken out of the wash,

the sky wears its greys
of cloud, dim and dramatic
it opens summer eyes.