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 Jul 2010 Kyle Huckins
D Conors
It is Autumn, once again,
favorite season,
and again,
the leaves turn by way of the wind,
in colours of palettes,
around my aloneness again

I look long down the avenue,
the street,
the sidewalk, the trees,
I wish
I could watch myself wandering,
with someone
I love
     in the breeze,
this again is uncertain
as my cigarette lifts
in this crisp
Autumn air...

     my aloneness has gathered here.
D. Conors
c. 1996
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed—
So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be
Immediately—that Anguish stooped
Almost to Jealousy—
The coppery screeches of metal against metalorange dust floats down from the hingesrain pitter patters on the silvery paintof the old chain link fence.Breezes float in and out of the wirey criss-crosses.The sky is lavender.Cement holds the posts in place,the fence is leaning to the left.a frisbee and toy airplaneare amongst the litter on the front yard.As no one dares to cross the gate.At night, the lights of the other houses on the streetare lit. Except for this one.Dead branches shake against the windows and the gate screeches slowly.Rotting wood falls off the house.Lightning strikes and fire sparks.Slowly the house is burned.the fence leans to the left.1/28/10
copyright 2010

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