friday comes in with the crickets,
then the birds. the noise (not even
songs) of both
are sad.
august this year is cool and damp,
a tragedy, its own
opposite. the trees are already beginning
to die. sleep has begun to scare me
again and so i wait it out,
patiently,
watching my ashtray fill and the light change clear,
until it pushes into me,
quiet and strong,
unrelenting.
when winter comes again,
and snow,
i can get used to sadness
and to sleep.
for now though the weather stubbornly
ignores its season,
stays stuck
and stagnant
and still.
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 7:56 PM UTC
friday comes in with the crickets,
then the birds. the noise (not even
songs) of both
are sad.
august this year is cool and damp,
a tragedy, its own
opposite. the trees are already beginning
to die. sleep has begun to scare me
again and so i wait it out,
patiently,
watching my ashtray fill and the light change clear,
until it pushes into me,
quiet and strong,
unrelenting.
when winter comes again,
and snow,
i can get used to sadness
and to sleep.
for now though the weather stubbornly
ignores its season,
stays stuck
and stagnant
and still.