Meandering footsteps throughout the Autumn darkness
Toward each sallow recluse of a moment
A simple ending ceaselessly beginning
With each sniff of smoldering residue from the grass
Beyond the harsh horizon of what may as well be eyelashes
And inside- yes, inside
Within the blank fortress
Is a scoundrel of a man, who
Knows not for what he’s come?
To die, dear dalliance; fickle, frolicking foal of the Frühling!
And out the pasture’s gateway
In the Autumn, in the Autumn
Unaware
Above the marshes and the moon-orb’s
Sweet icing on the water
In an eerie sort of night
Forgives the foal a mare’s ear
Silently reprising in delight
Yes, Yes it is the Autumn
And the riders are far from sight

The mornings spent running?
I hardly remember them
The afternoons, asphyxiated?
No
What I see are the absence of clouds
Between the clouds
When all earth is shattered
And the moments of happiness
Consumed
It is momentous
It is stupendous
It is callous, and hardened and reproachable
I hate thee, and thy silver charms
Mrs. So I told you so
Mrs. Goodbye forever
I hate you
And I hate this evening
Whither, whither to whom?
Goodbye

Tell me why it has to be this way. I don’t want to hold on to one side of this conversation and have the other person falling off a ladder. Yeah, down there on the ground. Get up and look at me!
      I wasn’t sleeping, I swear—he said hastily.
Yeah, whatever, buddy. Tell me what you’re doing in my head?
      Repainting. Repainting over the old spots, the worn out spots.
But those are the best spots, the only ones with character. Can you tell me who sent you?
      No sir, I cannot.
Then it is ok. I suppose I’ll have to watch as you put varnish on top of every dream and aspiration I have ever had. Do you know who the girl was that I first loved in the springtime of youth’s blossom?
    It was Ashley, sir.
I believe I did not love her, guest worker. What are you wearing there?
    A pair of overalls, a cape. What’s the difference?
I’m the one who speaks to you first, and don’t be short with me. I don’t like you standing there in an open room with no windows. How is that possible?
    I’m sorry, boss. It’s just, I finished painting over that memory but the paint’s still wet. You loved her very much, I’m afraid.
    Ashley? I never gave her a second thought. Perhaps you are right. I only remember kissing her shyly and asking permission to see her *******. They were the biggest of all.
      Yes sir, I thought so too. She was a sweet girl though.
Sweet? I’ll tell you Mr. Painter; Ashley was the first girl I kissed. I kissed her in my first love’s house, a different girl. I loved Ashley more than that first love and I’m serious. No one can ever make me forget the day we lay on her mother’s sofa in the basement.
      --I’m sorry, sir.
No, say it is impossible. Say you have some form of soap that can make up for your treachery!
     No, I’m only wearing orange overalls and marching on the word from above.
But who sent you!!!? I have to know. I’m crying.
    Justin, it’s ok. It’s Ashley. She said you need to stop crying. She has a family now.
Well, alright. That house. That basement. That unconscious.
    We are worms, sir. Worms, slithering and boundless. Please accept my apologies.
No, it’s quite alright. If you must take every memory of my second love, take my third. And take my fourth and every other woman who crosses my path. It’s not my choice to keep them captive in the imagination of what could have been. You know, it’s been years since I truly cared about someone—
    Since Ashley?
Who’s that?
    Ashley.
Goodbye forever, harlot.
    Sir, you’re being brash.
No, I don’t remember that name and I hold you at an arm’s length in my mind. Please, finish what you’re doing and allow me to rest. What color are you painting the room?
    Green, I’m afraid.
Then so it is. Goodbye, good friend. Goodbye sweet love. Forever, in the spring. Temporal boundaries and endless playlists. Be the verve, be the melody. I love you!
     So it is. Sleep well, sir.

I want to end my life
In search of where to go
The subtle reverberations
Of faint murmurs from fantilion futile flagella
As if to escape their murky repose
Flap, furiously
At once distant, then endlessly so
From the warmth of what it must be
To be free; aye, lifeless
As if their yearning made it so
And our flagellum steered us true
But we're embedded now
There's only two things we can do

Jim has 1 rose
Carl has 2
Sam likes yellow
Carl has 2
Sam buys 1 rose
Carl has 2

Initially, a glistening syringe
Punctured our sullied vestigial
Denoting words withered and wispy
Also being barren, tapped as well as empty
That canister of pithy remembrances
Now outright, unique and unencumbered
Still
The torridly measly, meek and
Reflective dripping silver needle
Forgoes my waking-dream and other alibis
For fluids fleeting from us to
Be lapped up by the sun then bottled in the clouds
“Forever?”
…Yes, because time means nothing…
“So that’s where we are, when all they see is weather”
Goodbye to consciousness