There was nothing wrong with the day;
summer rolled on from warm to wet
a serendipity of flavours,
but I was stuck in monochrome.
I’d nothing left to say,
the weight of it betrayed the light,
left me pulverised by time:
here I am in the middle way underwhelmed,
not sure which way to turn, yet every way is “me”.
I’m stuck fast in the slow swell of choice
like a rat caught in a wheel “entre deux vies”
and love seems so far away, as far away as you
running in the opposite direction.