Why is there no sky?
Drums tease under deep muttering,
walls stained red with spotlights.
Only the smell of singed cigarettes
dotting the room
denoting cancer-ridden lungs
burnt and tarred, thick like
toffee - stuck, chewed,
hard like shingles
on the beach of Brighton
where the pier gave way
to a view of the sky
which we could never reach.
Why is there no sky?
I thought they were the limits
but yet we can't touch it
only see it and assume it's there.
But then carried away by
the sound of drums, you drift
like the acrid smoke you smell
and forget you are there
only to find the higher you go
the closer you are
to feeling it.
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