seems i have reinvented

everything quieter than before.

wet autumn days or is it winter,

the change comes

gradually.

i dreamed a cloud of

falling leaves, awake to find it is so.

it is so very quiet here today.

sbm.

numbers.



friday can be thirteen,

or something else entirely.



is it memory, history,

some                  thing.



he titled it profanity, the

subconcious.



so we write,      critique,

move dots and numbers.



deal with the outcrops,

note the                 faith.



friday can be thirteen,

or something else





entirely.



sbm.

I would dry your eyes if it
meant drowning in your tears

I would calm your demons if it
meant falling with your fears

I would fight your struggles if it
meant suffering your strife

I would trade your death if it
meant giving you my life

©