if

tuesday is

easing

downward

becoming

greyness

in all its grey hours

here

about to

unravel its

palest of places

let song

fall from

its gargoyle

from its fountain

let words

bleed out

spoken and frayed

this -

grim as

morning

tries to blaze but never truly awake

there are

bells stopped

with pages

and dreams in

cuts, up in paper

flames

ask the boy

whilst stillness is

to wade thru

deep descending waists

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