my graveyard is painted
in shades of irony
and its stone teeth
ensure there is no escape
sunlight rattles between
my bones like an inmate
that loves the bars
like it could
never love
its home
One tree
drinks with the sun
and so finds itself
some sky. The other
tree cowers, sinking
from the light.
The first raises its head
above the rest and sees
nowhere left to go.
The other tree sleeps
and dreams far above
their collective peaks.
the veil of autumn
lies heavy upon
the body of summer
until winter seals its tomb
so too do regrets drown
the mind until death
sees both through
drag me up the steps
with your broken arms
and let the hangman ramble on
then dig me twice as deep
but leave a stone
on my head for the mourners
to spit upon because only time
will lay upon it and weep
Whirlpool of Crows 