Barren straight trees silhouetted
against greying bleak skies
the colors of fall lie decaying

The rose is love
opulent reds and crimsons
sensuously twisting and folding
carefully concealing

The problems with poetry
There are many
Can't fast forward
Ad lib or summarize
Rhythmic at

Wondrous are the worlds
The worlds we weave
The worlds we weave
When we write

riding home the
stars shine brightly
through the backseat
window
my mind wanders
the old

Chilled breezes follow the
ebbing sun as night wakens
to landscapes dotted with
foam tombstones