Remember remember the fifth of November.
It was gone in a flash
In bundles of *******.
Was not a celebration of Beethoven's fifth.
It was a night of celebration.
Celebrating that parliament survived.
A night of a million effigy's burning country wide.
Guy Fawkes burned annually.
Merry England.
Always full of tradition.
The night the air tastes of smoke.
(C) Livvi

weather is changing
for better, or worse

and i am changing
for better, or worse

days are turning darker
nights are getting colder

and i am growing numb
to everyone, everything

soon i shall be giving thanks
in a few days time

to the people who never left
and places which molded me

i will not be eating turkey
most likely, i will eat Chinese food
by myself, somewhere in this city

but i will give thanks
i must
shouldn't i?

to everyone who has stayed in my life
and every place that carved me out of stone

that will be my thanksgiving
that will be all
that will be it for me, this year

Rain on tin
the pang and elasticity of
time and the time it
takes nature to sway
from right to left
from outer to inner
to notice the girl
on the edge of the room
with a drink in her hand
and then there's that
old lightning, self-proclaiming
its importance to the
gymnasium with grumbling
thunder then we're all
tossing dice and teaching
each other dance moves,
saying the ******* the edge
needs a pair of new shoes
and someone responds:
Isn't that the woman who kills?

And I go home with her
rain on tin and a summer
wade through Cottonwood Creek
we're in a shed
and it's musty, dangerous,
and possible
a killer takes certain care
of your body with her
cautious hands.

I often wonder
as the night
closes in and
so do the walls
around my mind
I wonder when
it happened in
human evolution
that we would
become inescapably
immobilised by
the hands of a
clock