Dank
Dank


Another dank evening,
shades of grey turn coal.
Another dank walk,
The moist grass crush
under the stomp of my numb feet.
I return to my room empty handed.
The room, the walls,
the bed and the blankets
dank from the chilly night.
My body more dank than all of these.
The telephone is dank too,
Silent from past three days.
Dank is my old soul;
forgotten,
abandoned.
Hope too is dank,
for there have been no visitors
since the past three days.
Not that I would answer the
telephone ring or the doorbell.
The spirit too is dank
watching my dead body
dank under the blankets
waiting to be found
and cremated.