shades of shivering gray

we, of shivering-gray souls
ghoulishly adorned in winter wool
its sad-gray neutrality grating on our nerves of blues
(like too much rain on drumming on drenched windowpanes)
though only turbulent summer storms
caress our pale ethereal bodies, cooled still by pre-winter gray
chills not emanating from blustery sea winds
bathed not in silvery or golden warmlight
we are content, not...

but alas, this dismal ringing from
the oily-gray depths of our would-be personal torments
we, these quaking-gray citizens, suffer thus
nature's punishment for abusing her limits
against time, defrosting
against a wise man’s knowledge, howling
against the future, unchanging
wrapped up in imaginary warmth
against the chills of an idealized past —
why have the skies, clouded in angry gray
enveloped our lives in this sticky cancerous blight
where even the wind wails a nasty song
of today’s unseasonable dread
and we no longer even imagine from dull dust-gray eyes
the brightness of last year's half moon?
no, we are content, not…



shades of shivering gray
[2007.31.7…a]