from P.4 on Mon., Oct. 26th

Forest green
freckles of
grass tickle
each other in the
crevasses of
my tiny toes
as the wild wind
gusts against
my body.

I have to win the race.


-----


The cool breeze blows,
blows away any temptation,
towards any misguided
fortune that could be
found outside.

With the leaves crashing
down, we can only
sit on the windowsill
and imagine life past
these constricting walls.


-----


Where warm wood
cracks and shakes:
black, tan, and
grey tails.

The story ends as
it began.

Warm wood cracks
and shakes.

from P.1 on Mon., Oct. 26th

Onion volcano,
shrimp tales,
another year older.

Smoke & Fire

But the most important
person isn't there.

Sorry, Abigail.

-----

As the sun shines on
my face, I sit and watch:

as the wind sweeps over
the grass, the leaves
fall off of their dormant
branches, into the air,
the water form a waterfall.


-----


The crisp, wet,
grass lays
still.

Only to move
when crushed.

The frosted
grass a
remembrance
of fall.

from p.4 on Mon., Oct. 19th

"Congratulations!"
is the first word I see--
no need to read anymore.

My mom cried.
My dad shouted with joy.

It's a funny thing
when everythign changes.

I'm in college.

But yet
I'm still here,
writing some dumb poem.


-----


Frozen pizza and
Cherry Garcia are
all that's left of
what once was.

A broken bag of peas
half-frozen and clung
to the grate.


-----


The engine sat bar
in the engine bay.
The valve casing lying
on the floor.

Spark plugs corroded
and broken, coated
in oil.

Long may you run.


-----


Fallen rose petals and
moldy stems
accumulate below my feet.

Messes to clean
with nothing but
bare hands.

All worth it.

Beauty

Made from nothing
but broken pieces of life.

from p.1 on Mon., October 20th

Ostrich-flavored cats

that smell of

armadillo soup.

Dipped

in ranch,

these cats are like

no other.

Meow.

-----

Drops fall from the

sky in a thousand

mini suicides that

echo through the 

house, onto my

living-room window.

Wind blows sending

a faint chill up my

spine. Oh how I love 

this time of year.

from Mon., Oct. 12th

A head poked out the
window, and onto the night.
Music trailed behind the
car, distorted by the
wind and the darkness.

Her hair tangles with
the sky. She was happy.


-----


Light hitting, shining on the subject.
Through the lens, it considers where
beauty really is.

Is it on the Senior or on her surroundings?


-----


ball your first when I try to slip through you,
smear me over when I lash out,
be the lighthouse to my mistakes.

Then starve me, hollow me mout,
only leaving room for you.

then when you're ready,
let me leak through your fingers.

A gooey puddle.


-----


The air is heavy
with the regret of a
a thousand people.

and the night black beacon on the dreams
and were snuffed of their innocence.

from p.4 on Mon., Oct. 5th

He sat alone,
the frog-finngered boy
on the train tracks.
Careful not to step on the
shards of beer bottles
while he danced
and sang
and dreamed
of being anywhere but there.
Alone.


-----


Rustling leaves fall to
harsh dirt.

The bottle falls shattering
into nothing, reminiscent of what
it once was.

Water ripples in ovals
encompassing time and our
place in it.

Leaves fall to harsh dirt.


-----


The smudged photographs
illuminate the pathways of her fingertips.
She only saw the good in them,

flipped through the bad ones and

found something that made her happy.

from p.1 on Mon., Oct. 5th

The moon,
memory,
the motorists' mufflers,

sing lovesongs to the
crisp October night
and the air,
that flows softly
through the ends
of your let down
hair.


-----


Raindrops glimmer on fallen leaves.
Full branches catch the soft morning sun,
toss handfuls of shadow
onto joyous faces and chilly noses.

The elk sing of great victories.
The aspen groves strengthen connection.


-----


Sounds so loud they make the
cat cry out.
Jamming so hard that your
hat flies off.

Hands bleeding,
Ears screaming.

Rough,
Tough.