pewter

gray
grey
and more greh

shades of ash
pools of drab
as well as souls deep as....

skies of lead, plumed at dusk
iron grass and eye of stone
illuminatied mites and whit
sitting atop scattered and watery strata
as those that might be seen
through a drenched loupe left clinging

trees hunkering down in miserly ruts
automatonic bestowals within saturated hues
hydro-plained to the next expanse of neutral

slate path and silvery abode
the wet and mold
dissolving all that stands ajar
a backwash reflows
carrying within it all to more of the sam(n)e

soggy souls crawling and dawdled
laundered and a'rinse
their burdens the only evidence of routine

and smeared bulwarks run down with purpose
straight through to the fans left stranded
within tiers affliction and stabs of ire
up up through the mired puddles
like that pearly sword decrepit

visions slightly inked in mist
is it dream or somnambulance?
vistas muddied and inert
is this well-planned guise conjured?
or could it be
just an attitude of careless allusion?
oh fie! blah! ho! glum!