[This is another note I will not send]

Voice in my ear drowns out this so-called dawn, the brightening gray of a day in mourning.

[This is another note I will not send]

Over the judder of tires crossing brick,
the squeal of no-name techno-jazz,
life screams inside me
and I'd scream back
if I had a voice.
Your voice in my ear
drowns out this so-called dawn,
the brightening gray of a day in mourning.
I hear it in the seagull's squawk:
go away, far away.
But no complaints come out of you.
What can you do, you say.
Even your disenchantment
rings with laughter.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.353] 2008-11-25

I was speaking with a friend.When I asked how he was, he said, "No complaints, what can you do." The initial prompt was "This is another note I will not send" which is its provisional title. [now permanent]

Original in "This is another note I will not send"