all gone

The day is teetering already
the sun cannot guard us against winter
there are no loud clothes

But, wait a minute
the imprint of rogue colour
dazzles and one white billboard
blank, edged with rust red
sharp as a cymbal on the edge of the mix

It’s not as though it’s ready
for your free inscription
this is all bought space and paid for
next to the trees

And what if I made up a song
out of nothing but half seconds
quartered time, a great tearing sound
as if the words went, all gone sound
and this blinking empty board
waiting, flexing the ink
but I am whitened into day

What of tomorrow
even if the weather change
and I find all that I am, still pale
between the notes and beside signs


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