Pale rulered ceiling low.
The fog a second sky at ten paces.
Your breath a third foglet.
You'd review harshly a film ending
among this melodramatic a cloud chamber,
lazy with meteorological ellipsis.
Away, you forget endmost
Grampian, the uniformity and wall-eyed mist.
Back, grey cries for colour: quayside tattoos,
neon dye, Jäger. Colour isn't given.
Nae thermo, nae sae dynamic. (Ootsides, onywauy.)
Folk thole the grey reef lang enou,
puddle in the sea, hoovering
at livid macroeconomic cracks.
Abdy oxidates, no white-het but blue.
A'hin blurs. A'hin levels. A'hin mixes. A'hin cools.