Someone carved a face in that pumpkin,
and now it's perched on a stoop, grinning
with the same sinister grin the carver must have had
when he carved it.

And everything I recognize as expressive
(the triangular eyes, that big toothy smile)
is marked by a lack of pumpkin.
A red face of dead space.

And now I'm seeing just the opposite.
I see two spots where the eyes should be,
an open wound where the mouth once sat,
and a fire within, baking the insides.

Tick tock says the clock
I might take a walk
I have counted all the cracks
In every single pane of glass
Look outside beyond the wall
All those trees growing tall

I turn and I am swallowed
By this space that I have made
Sinking through the tiles I have placed

Waking up to the moon's bright gaze
Tick tock it could be too late
Quickly don your twisted shape

Stepping lightly along the path
Following shadows that cover the grass
Why did I leave?

I close my eyes and listen to the whispering breeze...

I haven't looked up from my computer in a while...



Oh, yep, she's still beautiful.


I guess I'll write a thing about it...