Acorns fraternize in the leaf litter, sifting through tired tales of falling.
A yellow sun cranks knives into yellow sinews of nearly perfect grey
where twilight is smiling for no reason,
and we all sleep overlong,
as our tomorrows
lapse into gone.

The Politics of Amber
Is how Love is not the first thing
that you know.
It buries the lead in the forefront
Of a Trojan Horse.
The mane, majestic in the wind-
up your aspirations.
But always where a weeping oak
Had a reason…

To paralyze a
Life.

Or Two.