Summer's Evening

Summer's Evening

There are pink elephants playing in the cornflowers. And under their green sentinels, Apollo painted all the houses gold. Pink tails chase through the fields, dark-cloaked Nyx riding out of the East in swift pursuit, as one by one Apollo gilds them, and they blush at Nyx's approach and flee.

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For the record, I never actually meant for this to be a poem. A friend of mine called it such, and I guess I don't completely disagree. You be the judge. Either way, it was a lovely evening.

Oktobre

Oktobre

hello october
crisp wind and leaves
the smooth roundness
of pumpkins at walmart
everything is going back to the beginning
thicker socks
and a heavier jacket
wind-ruffled hair
people and leaves
tumbling hither and thither
to escape the cold
that creeps between cracks
sets toes numb
grass withered
and in the air
the tang of october
an october sky
an october sun

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Found this in an old LJ entry - thought it may be worth posting.

Summertime

Summertime

days hiccup and skip
the jumbled structure
that kept them ordered
and orderly stretched
like so much canvas on a frame
collapsed in splintered fragments
of sunlight on the floor
town left the circus
left the acrobats unsuspended
in the middle of the air
and with no one to catch them
no one to count them
the days slide by unbroken
unmindful of the undertow
like sunlight on the placid face
of a muddy brown river

Revelanguor

Revelanguor

drugged up
by my own desire
for something to be wrong,
something to be different.
I write when I feel like this.
but the truth is
truth doesn't need explaining;
the truth is
I sometimes forget it.
somehow,
the face in the mirror
isn't the one
I expected to see.

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I'm not sure whether I like this one; and I don't really have an explanation to offer for this thought. The truth is that some things need no explanation, that some things cannot be explained, and that, for some things, an explanation simply doesn't exist.