Autumn racing red and gold
behind half-open eyes of icy blue.
27th Fall. Step into cold
and race through
alleyways I've known.
A crunching stride, solitary breaths.
Staccato notes
banged out on sidewalks' grey scales...
...I'm every inch
of this softened ground,
these shoe treads, hieroglyphics...
...My town appends
its runic fate
onto
my story's granite page.
Crisping air, engulf my lungs.
Ensconce my face in drowsy weather.
Sleepy eyelids, sliding down
to Main & Dow Street. Watch me hover
along the margins.
These last 4 months of quiet aching
engraved in me come roaring out now.
Autumn streets stay silent.
And Kendrick Park
has whispered low
in bashful rustling;
I climb the boardwalk,
my thoughts are gilded,
responding slowly.
The breeze abates,
it's halfway warm.
Bellevue & Lewis
I am a statue;
smooth, cold marble,
still in November.
And, soon, the Summer comes with angry glares.
And, soon, this stony face will disappear.
These months will always linger in me.
Does my ghost haunt this place already?
I'll return here every Autumn when
October signs off on the Summer's death.
And I'll be tracing all your features with
forgotten footsteps' ancient hieroglyphs...
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Autumn racing red and gold
behind half-open eyes of icy blue.
27th Fall. Step into cold
and race through
alleyways I've known.
A crunching stride, solitary breaths.
Staccato notes
banged out on sidewalks' grey scales...
...I'm every inch
of this softened ground,
these shoe treads, hieroglyphics...
...My town appends
its runic fate
onto
my story's granite page.
Crisping air, engulf my lungs.
Ensconce my face in drowsy weather.
Sleepy eyelids, sliding down
to Main & Dow Street. Watch me hover
along the margins.
These last 4 months of quiet aching
engraved in me come roaring out now.
Autumn streets stay silent.
And Kendrick Park
has whispered low
in bashful rustling;
I climb the boardwalk,
my thoughts are gilded,
responding slowly.
The breeze abates,
it's halfway warm.
Bellevue & Lewis
I am a statue;
smooth, cold marble,
still in November.
And, soon, the Summer comes with angry glares.
And, soon, this stony face will disappear.
These months will always linger in me.
Does my ghost haunt this place already?
I'll return here every Autumn when
October signs off on the Summer's death.
And I'll be tracing all your features with
forgotten footsteps' ancient hieroglyphs...
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