A Pilgrim to Nowhere || by John Grey

I can’t help but hear
the clock that keeps striking
time never settles
in an apartment below street level

so I leave 
down a street of broken windows
the clothing collection box
overflowing with white shirts

long after the scheduled deaths of family
in fields of thistle
praying blind Gods see me
some time in my darkest hours 

from the north
the year-round wind blows this way
the white eye of winter
doesn’t blink

it goes with grief
and old leaves
the threat of rain
the silence of beginnings and ends

on the swaying bridge
up the steep hill
I cover much ground
when I’ve nowhere to go


JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Penumbra, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Lana Turner and Held.

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