Winterfylleth (October)

We die! We die!

scream the old men

of the trees,

as their grip slips

from skeletal fingers

holding them aloft.

They fall to earth

in a blaze of golden glory,

coming to rest

at the feet of

great oaks, sycamores,

birch and elms.

Rustling in their cardigans

of orange and amber

like dry skin

in...

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Unfamiliar livery

Adorns familiar trains

Myriad trees, multi-shaped

Silent window frames

Station signs unreadable

A metal phonetic blur

Speeding on through Somewhereshire

On a train to who knows where

TK Maxx and Staples

Retail worship shrines

Ears burst in tunnels

As beneath the soil we dive

Conservatories and patios

Buzzing power lines

Tearing on th...

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