Ticktock-ticktock
thus said the mockingbird of a clock...
Sun set
clouds jogging...
Crescent is your laughter
the slit of illumination...
{ someone turn the volume down }
A somber tone...
There is no sun beyond the fog,
no beacon in the deadened smog...
Don't want to explain, our children, why they lack
I tire of pulling the knives off their back...
Iris pools filled burgundy lips
with bitter taste of summer salt...
He was an intensity I could not contain but could...
This bench is oh so old now
It's seen so many years...
There once was a time
when I let...
October is freely bleeding
from our veins...
Midway the slope
where two clandestine faults seem to collide...