Long chains of dark grey
Moving along across the windowpane

Another day gets slaughtered by my bitch

There are chirps from little birds
There is movement from the tree
The wind blowing it back and forth
The light changes almost constantly
Shining on my head
Shining on my death
On my bed

And then

The house across I don’t know
The clatter of things that hang down from my blinds
They sound like boats in a pond romantic
But they are like old fashioned clocks counting time with a tick and a tock
And eventually time runs out it runs out it runs out

The grey dance continues