weary

November 7, 2008 12:00AM

and suddenly it is november and i have forgotten to pay
the internets bill for two months and suddenly there is
no internets. and suddenly it is november and puddles
wrap themselves around parking lots of leaves and where
to go from here. hope is pathology, disorder wrapped in
riddle, riddle wrapped in ridiculous fumbling buttered
thoughts. i don’t know where i am. try and remember
and i remember dreams.

november falls fast to the ground and what is there to
do but baste these splintered thoughts in phantom silk.
all wrapped up in labors, this month will lumber as a
summer’s gasp and we must scour up this harvest and
huddle around burnt logs in hopes of some forgotten
unseen fire.