October is

October

is a death

remembered in

forgotten by

the fear in cold

frost fields.


October

is a death

loved only

by the crows

and funeral cars

and is a white only

to hide in the dark.


October

is the mind's

death remembering

of old August

too hot

for dandelion hearts

turned to night

in circles of lilies

for black fairies.


October

is the moon

opening it's eye

as wide as

this recollection

is bright as blackness


October is the lifting

of the cosmic pen's

fat circle.


Wear your darkest clothes,

fall in love with these shadows.

October is the dark under

her dress.




-JLB