Grey Poem by GRANT FRASER

Everything had turned
the same way,
and I quite heavy,

dragging it, between
old chimney pots,
sprouting stuff that
should be green,

grey, like a gravestone,
the earth moves it stones
around,

blood all dried
and powdery inside,
there I stand
statued and hard
with little colour,

until the words in my being
harden, bloodless,

the unfeeling car
wheels are like big
cold chains around the earth,

the ground dry and smashed
with grey dead birds,
obliterated guts, cementing,

I cannot move stones
or statues,
the great weight of time,
especially the rock,

it wills me on,
only to defeat me,

again...

again...

until I cry heaviest,

yet no trickle,

nothing....