The Fall

I can watch myself like mirrored walls,
Through screaming halls and buried friends,
Two searing ember ends for eyes,
That cry in an amber / autumn blend.
That ask why they grew from fallen ‘corn,
to buried spores in grounds descend.
And sprouted skyward hands from branches,
Mantis love like hatred born.
The ‘sets drop orange shadow sides
like fans of pride that slice the wind,
and men divide the years of work
to quarters for single silver things.
I layered scarves and wrapped the parcel
top with toques and know the noose.
The truth of every corner tangle
is that the angle sometimes obtuse,
Is closer once we truce.

And the point is made more sharp
When our fall becomes our start.

—-

I made it.

2009