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.