the wind is blowing
through the piles
of dead leaves
and if i close my eyes
it sounds like waves
as they scrape across
the parking lot
an ebbing tide of
future decay in shades
of browns and reds

still over stimulated
my mind spasms as a
series of scenes
plays back and forth
from the night before
the different people
each with a story
to tell as they thumb
through our offered fare

i sit alone in the dark
listening to the ocean
of freshly shed foliage
the previous evening
playing on the rickety
projector in my mind
flashing images of
gutter punks talking horror
and ladies flipping
through poetry books
as fake blood sprays over
the undulating masses
being pummeled by sound
and screaming for more

i need to recharge
top off the mental tank
file away the different
faces eagerly telling tales
of small town texas and
the killers in the woods
an evening of people watching
as an olympic sport
with no shortage of new
stories inspired by the
oddness of humanity and
how awkward we all truly are
swept along on the currents
like so many fallen leaves
across a parking lot
asserting a semblance of
control on the chaos

2 thoughts on “leaves

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