harvest time

we embrace the
slow breath of renewal
as the pianos and guitars sing with
flashy currents
and the poet drones with prayers
to the newly elected dead

birds wait for faint signs of
vitality
and the night waits for
human souls
seeking something unfamiliar

this blank page of nature
is an orchestra of simplicity and agony

unknown boys will scratch and scrape
for cheap beer
and giddy girls will
paint themselves for faded glories
sex will be used as a
sacramental symbol
as the festivals of death commence
each begun with an individual obscenity
fires display faces
fabricated in a finite
facsimile

renounced children
embrace the mysteries of samhain
as tattoos are stamped
upon exiled tombstones

each drive
no matter how short
is long
with music
and shattered memories

opportunities arise
with short and tidal
waves of excitement
cooperative and enlisted in an
unhealthy mind
and
today is no day
for perfection

self abuse, mixed with
sex and something new
i have a cup of black coffee
and two bottles of wine
and i’m
waiting patiently for
obtuse patterns
of damnable recognition

procrastination
lingers in
consternation
and i have
plans to remember
and then
quietly dismember
gods grant me
vision that isn’t blurred
by the sting of familiarity

derelict and drifting
through empty houses
we are always
dimed out and never on time
constantly sipping wine
living a life
unrefined
drifting about
some hide
while others are denied

competition
restructuring
it all has to be
so perfect, so precise
the placement, the patterns
yet chaos is key

tonight is my favorite night
stepping to a stuttered guitar
and a phasing drum beat
with unrepentant bonfires
and awkward dances
it’s halloween for hippies
and nothing is the same anymore

301-harvest-time

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