Campus Autumn

[pixie_a_la_mode]

Touch Stones
I run my hand along the stones.
It scratches my finger tips, catching my nails on the jagged edges.
The skin puckers and sheds off like the dust off of moths wings.
The tang of blood fills the air.
There are tiny red marks on the stone.
They match the trees now.
Red, rust, orange and gold.
Scratched up nail polish, blood and bone.

Fall Girl
Feet catch up to the beat of the pounding beat
pouring out of a passing car.
There is no funeral march here.
The sun is up and on her back.
She flips her hair and bobs her head.
Smiling easy she catches a leaf.
Orange like her hair.
Freckles scatter up her cheeks.
She keeps on stomping down the hill.

Late Night
Coffee stings at the back of the throat.
They say a good coffee is suppose to taste like cigarettes,
Look like motor oil and leave you shaking.
The notes blurr
No amount of coffee can keep the sleep away.
Texts become a jumble of greek.
All greek to me, all greek to me now.
Sleep, sleep, please god sleep.
The mind chants the words spin and I drop.
Sleep so it seems.