Flat roofed garages, expanding up, over and beyond;
consuming abandoned cars and tarmacked roads;
foundations dug deep, where roots should burrow.

Vast seas of greyness, housing nothing of use;
no householder steps over concrete slabs of
pavements; rivers dividing breath from the
abandoned depths of simple storage solutions.

Godly hand reaches down from blue sky to
pluck me up and away from death; away from
my descent into these grand entrances;
grand entrances to crypts for giants.

Wisps of golden sands and amber stones wipe out the grey.
I am slashed apart by the sands of a desert beach, as I walk
out upon


Copyright owned by Jay Cool, November 2018

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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