when happiness rots around us
elapses
so much is going,
the rust routes are
excelling
and consider archives
as their own wither
commiserate
the sky’s broken air,
so full of tears once
as we were
this world
does not allow sunshine
but roots are comfy
in their cellar deeps
sleep as opaque as
deafening dreaming,
we list into the numbness
of trying
i do not soar well these
lying days, do not comply
with taxed winter, there’s
many a bough of slumped
shoulders
tho that wing is crippled
and stars lean into dark
autumn is many of us
dealt within eyes as blows
we nudge thru’ minutes
no stride can hurry us
beyond that grey inspected
hill
where crows are often
and sorrow shrill
