Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

dirge autumnal

i no longer gauge the way
the sunlight hits
our circle of stones

the equinox
what glaciers wanted of the earth
and the empire’s chosen calendar
have long since ceased to matter

it is an act of self preservation

only the innocent bite on my breast
that became a blood blister scar

but you
you sentimental fool
how you love your black anniversaries
taking comfort in maudlin ritual

thank you for leaving food outside the door
as an offering to the dead

then going away

your dirge autumnal

you know how i hate funeral flowers

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