it's near..

[crimson_red]

empty boughs
and branches pour from high into
the street.
as, last weeks
leaves that licked the wind;
line its soggy sidewalks like bleach-brown
carpets of decay.
fat black crows peck open garbage
bags and although you trudge, squarely,
down the yellow line.
together, open wide their mouths;
the darkness matching their outsides.
they warn
of a season characterized by cold nights
never-ending.
the one whose name we do not mention.
those who walk among the death today
do so slowly with heads hung low
in grief.

together, we mourn the loss
of fall (his favourite time of year).
this past weekend's
cold announces the arrival of emotions
best experienced by slumber and
detachment.
the ones whose names we do not mention.
nevertheless empty boughs and branches
precede, the body's attack,
a numbness
he already can feel climbing slowly up
his spine.
taking advantage of his own biology and spreading
out-wards by means of his insides.
his laughing days are numbered; so is his chance
to try.
but he vows to clench his jaw,
taste the tin, and fight the urge to always
close his eyes.

nathan