Four Seasons

Four Seasons:

Furled death reaped from lands of war

Crackling and cackles in the twilight

Eyes dilated…your bitter hickey burns

Raw curt smog felling my wooded lungs

While pierced kayaks burst plunging us

In congealed tainted bloody tributaries

Through long rapids reaching my basin:

The rife perpetually softly beaten echo.

I long for your morning sighed coughs

I long for your evening waltzed weeps

I long for your yellowed tang and sex

I long for your grubby smells weaving

My sweater worn like a shrinking sheath

While April’s cruelly growing and sowing

Phlegethonian heat traverses and scalping

Readying for fall

Scared these fallen colours

Are my last


I embrace the cold duvet

Lying by frozen embers

Wrought on oaken skeleton

Ashen embraces guide me


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