an evening fit
for ghouls and death
seems fitting as a
fool grows steadily
older than he ever
expected to grow

there always seemed
to be a certain logic
to being born the day
after the veil is at
its thinnest point
where evils swirl just
next to the living
carving wards in which
to celebrate the harvest

i think something else
slipped through and
into the newborn screaming
a devil calculating infinity
in hazel dissidence